Pietro Maximoff x fem!reader
Summary: ask: Maybe Pietro and reader are the only ones in the avengers facility (the other were with their families, on vacation, etc), and he's really excited to spend Christmas with her because he has a crush on her but never really told her (or even done something about it because when he's around her he doesn't know what to do), and he's really excited because it's gonna be just the two of them there and he wants it to be special and surprise her.
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: AU where Pietro isn't dead, this is only a few months after Avengers: Age Of Ultron but in my head Pietro, Wanda, and reader are early 20s!
~ i hope you like this @thewinterv đ€~
Normally, around the 20th of December, the Avengers Tower would be buzzing with the sounds of voices, the hum of machinery, and Tony's unrelenting playlist of 80s Christmas hits. But this year, it was dead silent.
Most of the team had scattered for the holidays; each of them returning home to their families. Tony was spending Christmas away with Pepper at some romantic destination no one knew about, Thor had returned home to Asgard, and Cap was spending his holidays with his friend, Bucky. Natasha, like almost every year, was spending Christmas at Clint's family house and this year Clint had opened the invitationâ
Because Pietro disliked spending holidays away from his sister, and Wanda had told him her and Vision were spending he holidays with Clint, he'd been considering the offer.
However, when you'd told him in passing that you'd politely declined the invitation, Pietro's heart sank. You didn't want to impose, was your excuse, and it didn't sit well with him.
He didn't want you alone on Christmas.   Â
So, he found himself lingering in the common area of the tower, his foot tapping anxiously against the wooden floor. He felt the anticipation bubbling up inside him as he shakes his hands, a mixture of excitement and nervous energy bouncing inside him. He glanced at the clock hanging over the door for the tenth time in the past twenty minutes.
You were here, probably in your room. The thought alone made his heart speed up. The two of you were the only ones left now and all that was left was his excitement. For months now, Pietro had been harboring these feelings for youâfeelings he never quite knew how to express. Around you, his usually confident self, became a jumble of awkward smiles and half-finished sentences.
But this Christmas, he was determined for that to change.
You wander into the kitchen, yawning. It's Christmas morning and Pietro is standing by the stove, stirring a pot with uncharacteristic focus. His usual blur of motion is replaced by small, deliberate movements, and you can't help but smile.
"Merry Christmas," you say, leaning your hip against the counter.Â
Pietro's head shoots up, his icy blue eyes widen in surprise as he spins around. "Y/n," he exclaims, his Sokovian accent more evident in the early morning. "Happy Christmas," he smiles and continues to stir, "Ah, I made horkĂĄ ÄokolĂĄda, ah what is the word⊠hot chocolate? It's⊠traditional, yes?"
You smile, pushing some hair away from your tired eyes. "Very traditional, Piet," you say, leaning over some more and smelling the air. It smells sweet. "Smells yummy. Can I get some, or is this all for you?" you ask with no hint of annoyance in case he had made it for himself.
His cheeks turn pink, quickly ladling the hot chocolate into two mugs. "Of course, for you too. I made it special."
"Special?" you echo, taking the offered mug. You taste the hot chocolate and it tastes quite normal, but still delicious.Â
"Yes," Pietro whispers, finding his words again. He feels nervous again but he swallows down the nerves. "For you. I made it special for you."Â
Your smile widens and you take another sip, hot chocolate coating your upper lip. Pietro leans in and wipes it with his thumb. He's pauses, hesitating, but when you don't pull away he relaxes. "Thank you," you say honestly, feeling an unfamiliar warmth in your stomach. Pietro just grins, feeling his nerves disappear.Â
Later that day, Pietro leads you to the training hangar, though he continuously refuses to explain why. Once you arrive, however, your jaw drops. The massive space has been transformed. Twinkling string lights crisscross the rafters, and a makeshift skating rink gleams at the center, its surface a mirror of ice. Soft holiday music plays from a speaker in the corner.
"Pietro," you breath, turning to him. "Did you do all this?'
He looks a little sheepishly. "Friday helped and I had some time. Plus, speed also helps," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you like it?"
"Like it? Piet, itâs amazing," you exclaim, stepping onto the edge of the rink, feeling the ice. It's cool and smooth beneath your fingers. "But I don't have any skates."
"Pshh, already handled." Pietro speeds away and returns in a blur of blue lightening that dances around you. he steadies himself and holds two pairs of skates in his arms. He holds one out for you in your size. "For you, Princezna (Princess)."
You laugh lowly, seeing how his hair sticks up a little. "Do you ever slow down?"
Pietro thinks for a moment, rubbing his nape. "Only for you," he says softly, the words escaping before he could really stop them. Your cheeks warm, but you don't look away. Instead, you smile and walk to a bench in the corner, lacing up your skates. Pietro does the same, basking in the comfortable silence.
One on the ice, you struggle while he moves with surprising grace. He skates circles around you, teasingly close but careful not to knock you off balance.
"Show-off," you say, flapping your arms desperately. Pietro skates up to you and holds out his arms, not touching you but keeping an eye on you in case you fall.
"I have to impress you somehow," he quips, but his tone sounds lighter than usual, less guarded, and you like the change. He's acting like how he does with everyone else, not as stiff as he is when he's around you usually, and you like it.
The two of you continue to skate for what feels like hours, laughing and sharing stories. At one point, you almost slip, and Pietro reaches out and catches you, his arms wrapping around your waist.
"Are you ok?" He asks, his breath warm on your cheek. You nod and for a moment, you both don't move.
"You're really good at this," you whisper, trying to steady your heartbeat as your nose almost touches his. You pull away a little.
"I had a good reason to learn," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "Wanda and I used to skate a lot at home, with Mama and Papa."
"Must have been nice."
"It was," he reminisces, smiling at you and then he pulls away.
After you're both finished and your feet start to hurt, the two of you return to the lounge, where the electric fireplace is crackling softly. Pietro had prepared another surprise: a small, slightly lopsided Christmas tree, decorated with whatever he could find around the facility. Paperclips served as makeshift hooks, holding up ornaments fashioned from lab equipment and some minimal leftover holiday decorations Tony had lying around.
"Oh," you say, wrapping your arms around yourself as you smile. "You really went all out, hm?" you tease, sitting beside him on the couch.
"I didn't want you to spend Christmas alone," he says simply, as if it's nothing. When you look at him, he hesitates, then adds, "You deserve it all."
"Pietro," you whisper, placing your hand on his arm. You don't even know what to say.
He takes a deep breath, his usual bravado faltering as it always does when you're around but he swallow it down. âI like you. A lot," he admits, the words stuck in his throat as he confesses;
"But when I'm around you, I never know how to act. I'm nervous. Very nervous. Which is ridiculous, because I'm never nerves around girls. But with you, I want to be careful. Because you're important to me. I want to impress you. I want you to like me."
You stare at him, your heart pounding. "Pietro, I like you too. I've always liked you, I've just been waiting for you to say something."
"You have?"
You nod, a smile tugging at your lips. "Yeah, you aren't the only one who is nervous, you know? You're quite intimidating."
Pietro laughs, taking your hand in his. "Me? Nesmysl (Nonsense)," he chuckles and strokes his thumb over yours. He smiles, his blue eyes locked onto yours. He leans in, his lips suddenly brushing against yours as he closes his eyes.
The kiss is hesitant at first, then it becomes more certain when you kiss him back, your hand finding themselves in his hair. The world seems to stand still, a rare moment of stillness that Pietro actually enjoys.
For once, he wishes he could stop time forever.
When you finally pulls away, Pietro is grinning like a love-sick school boy, his cheeks flushed pink. "Best Christmas ever?" he asks, his tone teasing but very honestly hopeful.
You return his grin and squeeze his hand, resting your head on his shoulder.
"Best Christmas ever."
reader x elliot // bonfire fluff
warnings: drugs , alcohol use
a/n : i know this is very random, considering iâm a bts account, but recently euphoria has been giving me motivation to write, so feel free to request more!đ«
the white shafts of daylight have passed, gone are the shadows of evening. flames from the fire rise boldly against the black sky. before that great fire their skin is glowing red, orange and gold. every eye is reflecting the flickering light, each iris containing a small picture of the bonfire before them. yet, it isnât simply just the sight that has you mesmerized, so too has the crackling and the woody fragrance of smoke. you end up being put in front of elliotâs legs, feelings his knees against your back. you feel something press against your lips. as you look down to see a cup and elliotâs face, peering up at you imploringly as he offers the drink to you.of course, you take it, pulling it away to peer into the contents.
 âwhat is this?â you ask; itâs bright blue and looks like thereâs glitter in it.
âi made it,â says elliot, and thatâs enough of a reason to believe that you wonât die drinking it. so you knock back half of it in one go, swallowing and then frowning as you hand the cup back.Â
âitâs supposed to taste like blueberry slushie, but iâm not sure if i got it rightâ.
you smack your lips. âtastes more like synthetic syrupâ you admit, moving your hand to run your fingers over the nape of elliotâs neck.
his lips curl back into a hazy grin, reaching up to plant a kiss on your lips âi guess youâre rightâ elliot says moving back, but you kiss him back, a little harder than necessary; youâre not nearly drunk enough, but you kiss elliot like that anyway.âalright, alright,â rue calls. âdonât start fucking with all of us hereâ
elliot pulls back, turning to look at her, then pecks your cheek smiling, âthereâs a first time for everything.â
beside rue, lexi makes a pained noise and immediately gets up.Â
you pull back from elliot just enough, although youâre still tangled together as the rest of you dissolve into another conversation.
you let yourself listen to the lazy conversation as elliot wraps himself around you, clingier than usual thanks to the alcohol. elliot can still remember the new yearâs eve, when youâve crushed through the door trying to find rue, as cliche as it sounds, he knew youâll mean a lot to him in the near future.Â
and you did, still do.
maybe it was inevitable, then, for you to fall together the way you didâunder the stars, and the entire world at your feet. when you kissed him for the first time out there, elliot told you it was probably a bad idea. but as soon as your lips met, both knew, there was no going back.you bring the joint to your lips and inhaling before you let out a long stream of smoke as you stare up at the stars.
thereâs a light touch of elliotâs fingers caressing your sides.
you look up at him with that same lazy grin; thereâs only the light of the moon and the fire, but itâs enough to see the way elliot looks at you.Â
you want to blame it on the alcohol and the drugs, but elliot always kind of looks at you like he canât believe you are real, like no high or euphoria could ever compare. you understand. itâs the way you look at him, too.
you take another drag of your joint and then lift your chin up, and elliot gets it immediately, leaning down and over you until your lips are nearly touching. you hold it for a second, at least until elliot gets impatient and bites your bottom lip, and then you open your mouth and breathe the smoke into his mouth. you can feel elliot grinning as your lips brush together, and then you lift your head up an inch to press your lips together into a kiss.by the time you resurfaceâor elliot pulls away, letting you back into the rest of the world, because itâs always hard to focus on anything elseâthe others have started their own conversation.
âyou two are making me sick,â says nate.
âyouâre fucking sick,â says fez.
youâre too lost in your own thoughts, brought back to the present only by elliot tickling your chin, leaning in and whispering, âare you sleeping?â
you grin, keeping your eyes closed as you murmurs âjust thinking.â
âabout?â
you hum. âyou.â
elliot kisses your nose. you finally open your eyes, looking up at elliot looking down at you.
âi love you, you know,â says elliot, not taking his eyes off you.
you thumb at the corners of elliotâs mouth,â i love you too,â you answer, breathless.
A/N: So Iâve been toying with a Wally from School Spirits idea. And finally wrote it out. It might be the only one I write for him, but I thought to share it anyways. Haha.
Warning/s: fluff, cute Wally, maybe inaccuracy of CD walkman, possible spelling/grammar mistakes
Wally looked around the field, eyes looking for one person in particular. As this was their favourite place to bask in the sun, even if they couldnât feel its warmth anymore. He looked to the stadium seating, and there in the sun, laying on a bench half way up, was you.
From this position he could see that one foot was planted on the ground, while its counterpart was propped up on the bench, possibly tapping away. Walking up the stairs, destination to you, Wally could see your hands resting on your stomach, also tapping away.
One of the luxurious from your life, that you could still use years later, was your CD walkman. Those flimsy looking headphones sat over your ears, your luscious natural curled hair half fanned above your head.
Standing by your head, Wally looked down at you. Admiring the beauty of your face. Your porcelain like skin with a natural glow, the 90's makeup that gave you an angelic look, but mostly your glossy lips. Which rested in the most naturally beautiful pout. You gave off this âsleeping beauty' feel, even with your foot and hands moving.
Quietly and with minimal movement, Wally sat down next to your head. His blue eyes watching you. You were both from different eras, but you were closer to his age then any other girl heâd been around. And you were just the sweetest thing heâd ever met.
You donât know when it happened, but for a little while it felt like you were being watched. But the last two songs had been to good to pause. Music was one of the few things you had in this limbo of an existence. Along with your lips loss and old 90s magazines from the library.
But that being watched feeling didnât ease up. So on the next song, even though it was another good one, you slowly opened your eyes. And what did you find? Wally Clark looking down at you. This love sick puppy dog look on his face. Which made you smile softly.
The moment your eyes fluttered open, for Wally, it was like seeing the most beautiful sight in this world. He wanted to see those eyes every moment of everyday for ever how long you both were stuck in this place.
âHi Wally" you said softly, voice sounding content and relaxed, as you removed the headphones from your ears.
He swallowed. âAh, hi...â
You giggled, yet didnât move. Enjoying this version of Wally. This was the shy, cute Wally. Compared to the self-assured, flirty Wally. This one was rare, and you wanted to bask in it.
For years now youâd been tiptoeing around the boy above you. Pushing aside his flirt and charm, ignoring the butterflies that fluttered every time you saw him. Or your racing heart when heâd smile your way. He was golden retriever energy, while you were more cat energy. Or as the kids these days had put it.
âCan I help you?â You finally asked when the boy above you floundered.
Wally snapped out of his daze. âAh, yeah" he sat back up and not hovering over you. âW-was looking for you, weâve got group...â
Sitting up, you turned your body to mirror his sitting forward on the bench. Nodding your head you did a little stretch. All the while Wally watch contently. How your back arched, your cropped top rising to reveal a small amount of skin.
And then you stood up, turning to grab your hounds tooth jacket, which matched your shorts. That tied in with your crop top, over the knee socks and loafers, it was a very âClueless' look. Which has and will always be one of your favourite movies, and fashion icons. As six months after its release, did you end up dead, forever stuck in that aesthetic.
You turned back to Wally, a soft smile on your face. Just adding to his daze. But then you snapped your fingers in front of his face, well-groomed eyebrows drawn together.
âEarth to Wally" you said amused.
Snapping out of his daze, Wally quickly got to his feet, nervously laughing, and apologising. You just giggled, making his heart skip a beat once more. That sweet, cute sound was something he could listen to forever.
He moved to stand on the bench below the one youâd been laying on, and jumped down to stand on the concrete. Turning back, Wally held out his hand, as this was something he did on occasion for you. Helping you to jump down a row or two before moving to the aisle. When you both could have just walked to the aisle in the first place.
Placing your forever manicured hand in his, even as ghosts feeling the other was always nice when itâs been years since you could truly feel anything. Almost grounding and familiar.
With his support, you stepped onto the bench before jumping down to stand beside Wally. Who then moved to the next bench, and jumped down, all the while still holding your hand. When you made it to stand on the next bench, rather than just jumping down, you decided to walk along the bench. And he was happy to walk beside you, hand in hand.
Soon, though, you removed your hand from his but placed it on his shoulder for support. One foot in front of the other, you walked like on a tight rope and not a bench. It amused you, made you smile. And Wally, he happily let you do this. Enjoying this playful moment.
Coming to the end of the bench, and the aisle, you were going to jump. But had a better idea in mind. Turning to Wally, who then turned to you, you placed your other hands on his shoulder, stepping closer to him. Silently asking for his help.
Looking at you with the sweetest confused look, it took only a few seconds for Wally's brain to work out what you wanted. Shakily he brought his hands up to your waist. Firmly he held as he effortlessly lifted you down to stand before him.
With your feet planted firmly on the ground of the bleachers, your hands on his shoulders slipped down and over his covered chest. All the while you smiled brightly up at him.
âWhy, thank you Wally" you said softly, removing your hands from his chest.
A movement that he truly wished didnât happen. That was the first time youâd ever placed your hands on his shoulders and his chest. It was progress.
âAh, no problem, Princess" he muttered clearing this throat, as well as his clouded mind.
Your smile fell slightly. âPrincess?â You questioned in surprise.
Wally's eyes widened, and he was mentally kicking himself. That was the nickname he used in his head, and sometimes when talking to Charley and Ronda about you.
âAh, um, yeah...â he sputtered trying to think. âI-itâs my, um, nickname for you...?â
You watched him, eyes blinking a few times, processing what just happened. Wally nicknamed you Princess, a name that once was used as an insult to you, but he had used it in a warm, almost terms of endearment way.
âYou nicknamed me Princess?â You asked, needing clarification.
His mouth opened and closed a few times. âAh, yes...but only I use it!â He rushed out, hoping you wouldnât be mad.
And then you giggled, that sweet sound gracing his ears. Looking down at you, he could see the warm smile on your glossy lips. Eyes shining brightly.
You stepped closer to him, manicured hand moving to rest on his chest as you looked up at him. âWell, I think I can let that slide...so long as Iâm your only Princess". And you winked at him.
Wally was shocked, eyes wide and mind blank. You had just approved his nickname, so long as you were his only Princess. And you winked. This was big progress, this had to mean you liked him too, right?
As quick as you invaded his space, you stepped back, removing your hand. With another giggle you began to walk down the aisle towards the field. All the while Wally stood, shocked to his core.
Half way between Wally and the ground, you stopped to look back up at him. This time you laughed, seeing him still in the same spot you left him.
âWow, have you frozen or stuck in a loop?â You called out in a tease. âWe have group!â
Snapping back to reality, he finally noticed you had walked off without him. Quickly he moved his feet, making short work of the steps to come to stand beside you, as you continued to laugh.
His face warmed, embarrassed for you to have seen him like that. But you didnât mind, you liked this Wally a lot.
âYou know, I think I like this cute, flustered Wally" you mused with a tilted head, smiling up at him. âItâs adorableâ.
Wally rolled his eyes, yet couldnât help the small smile on his face. You grabbed his arm and proceeded to pull him down the stairs, and out of the stadium to group.
Yes, this definitely the start of the Princess and the jock.
So since the new goth kit is coming out, there is a lot of controversy surrounding it. Many people saying its not enough, not the correct style, or they simply cant afford it. Today I present you with an alternative! Shining a light on the CC community, I have for you 30 links to different packs, clothes, hair, accessories, and makeup revolving around the goth style.
Please enjoy these finds & keep in mind that the Goth style is very broad & has many types of styles to it, as this is my own interpretation. ~ DelSolSasha
from left to right
â©| 1 2 3 4 5 6 |â©
â©| 7 8 9 10 11 12 |â©
â©| 13 14 15 16 17 18 |â©
â©| 19 20 21 22 23 24 |â©
â©| 25 26 27 28 29 30 |â©
Also, don't forget to check these cc creator's full websites & patreons because there is sooooo many great goth finds on their pages!
Thank you to the wonderful cc creators who are beyond talented | @bluecravingcc | @evellsims | @bloodmooncc | @sixamcc | @madlensims | @simcelebrity00 | @daylifesims | @aharris00britney | @aladdin-the-simmer | @pralinesims | @trillyke | @/reginaraven | @uxji | @luumia | @/tomichan | @busra-tr | @atomiclight | @lonelygravescc | @/YNRTG-S | @pinkycustomworld | @remussirion | @/seleng |
Iâll never get over the JJ rehab episode it was surprisingly well written for a Netflix original it reminded me so much of Euphoria and Juleâs therapy episode
or 3 times you fell for joaquĂn + the 1 time he fell for you
joaquĂn torres x female!reader cw: female!reader, mentions of a dress, no description of reader's feature (tried to keep it as open as possible), faintings, stupid ideas, fluff
The first time it happened, it was a coincidence.
You were watching a debrief standing on your feet â the room was packed, which was a little bit unusual â when your vision started to go black. You tried to hold on into anything, but it was too late to save yourself from a nasty fall.
One minute youâre watching the debrief, the next you have three concerned faces around you from above. Youâre definitely on the floor. The lady murmurs a quiet âThank god.â
âHey,â JoaquĂn called your name softly, entering your line of sight, âyou alright, chica?â
âYeah, I just,â you felt a pair of hands supporting your back while you sat up, âlow blood pressure.â
âYou sure?â
âAfirmative.â
Your answer was enough for the two people to turn their attention back to the presentation. JoaquĂn watched you closely, helping you to get back on your feet. The debrief was going full force in the background, and while you knew you could pick up the reports and images later, you made the decision to stay until the end. A Lieutenant offered his chair for you, and youâre able to watch everything.
When you were walking back to the Captain America headquarters on the compound, Dana, one of the Senior Intelligence Officers you worked closely with, intercepted you. âHey, donât go around skipping lunch anymore.â
âI didnât, I had a snack between tasks,â you explained yourself.
âI see.â She pointed towards your files and the tablet screen on your hands. âYou shouldâve seen how Captain JoaquĂn Torres catched you like, wow, so fast. Like he was paying attention to you, not to the Admiral.â
âYouâre crazy,â you scanned your badge on the door. âI promise to have lunch with you tomorrow.â
âI know where you work, girl,â she joked and made her way back to her side of the compound.
You laughed it off. Yeah, no, Dana was definitely crazy. You worked closely with Captain America and the Falcon, but you were just there, in the background, helping with security systems, maps, basically being their eyes and ears when they were on the field.
However, maybe Dana was right: once you reached your table, you found a bottle of Gatorade and a package of salted nuts, with a small note, âHope this helpsâ followed by a smiley face and an attempt of drawing a little falcon.
Dana made sure you didnât skip any meals or anything, but you couldnât shake the feeling of her words and JoaquĂnâs action. So you decided it was worth it to test if her observation was right.
On Wednesdays, if they werenât out of town or the country for a mission, Sam would bring Isaiah to the compound for a challenging training session. Most of the attendees would barely survive it, and it was your perfect excuse to test the theory.
You were just on the outside of the ring, watching Isaiah point out the flaws and, well, mostly the flaws, on each personsâ fighting technique. You stopped just a few feet from JoaquĂn, checking the corners of your vision to make sure he was still there.
One moment you were fine, the next your body was falling backwards, slowly. And then two arms were locked around your shoulders and you missed hitting the floor â again.
âShit, are you ok?â JoaquĂn quickly got you up and led you to a bench.
âYeah, sorry. I got lightheaded after my round,â you delivered your line like you planned, no more than an hour ago. âThanks for catching me. Again.â
âOh, no worries. Do you want to see a doctor or anything? Maybe you should.â He looked quite concerned.
âNo, Iâm fine. Iâll just get more water and probably tap out my next round.â
âThatâs wiser,â he got up and looked over his shoulder, to where Sam looked a little bit suspicious, and added, âyou did good today. So pat yourself on the back.â
âThanks, JoaquĂn.â
You never got out of the training room so fast in your life. Dana totally skipped the training â her middle forty joints were her excuse â, but was happy to hear all the details over dinner at her place â with her husband spying to understand why you would be so secretive with girlsâ talk. Until he caught up and gave his insights: you were either lucky that the lightning struck twice at the same place, or Dana was really right.
âYou know Iâm right, I was right when I met you,â she pointed out.
âEven if youâre right,â you let your head fall into your hand, âI canât do this.â
âWhy not? You clearly have feelings for him,â her husband added.
âBecause I am me. Câmon, guys, the Falcon dating a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, yeah, of course, very likely to happen.â You rolled your eyes. âHe just probably has, like, some enhanced senses, I donât know, anything they are doing to the future Avengers these days is definitely working.â
âYouâre so silly, sometimes,â Dana poured more wine into your glasses. âHear me out, you could try during the upcoming gala. You were invited, right?â
âOh, I know this look,â he pointed to his wife. âBuckle up, kid.â
The Annual S.H.I.E.L.D. Gala was hosted for the workers, but also for the Senators and politicians to do business with VIP people. A S.H.I.E.L.D. officer would just be another face amongst the crowd, which granted you the free pass to pick something that would steal all the attention from a certain hero. Something breathtaking, but also subtle.
You got your hair and make up done the way you like, all in to complement your green dress, in a shade it would both compliment your skin and send a message. And the dress itself was highlighting your best features, while also showing some skin on the neckline and the back. Thinking backwards, you find this decision kinda stupid, but Dana was convincing enough.
âSo, the other day we were at the grocery store andââ, Danaâs husband was talking about their funny encounter when she shushed him.
âDonât look now, but a birdie is moving towards us,â she whispered, her eyes locked on JoaquĂn.
âIâll make a fool of myself!â
âYou wonât! And Josh will hold you if anything goes wrong.â She pressed her champagne flute to her lips. âOk, now.â
You took a step back, just enough to look like you were out of balance, before letting your body fall again. You were prepared for the worst, but magically a pair of hands found their way to your exposed back. You opened your eyes and had an upside down look on JoaquĂn.
âWe have to stop meeting like this.â His smile was playful. He helped you get back on your feet. âAre you alright?â
âBetter now,â you batted your eyelashes and smiled. JoaquĂn looked amazing on the all dark blue suit he picked for the night. His hair was stylised, and he looked like a supermodel.
âOh, Captain Torres, she is so stubborn. I told her to go see a doctor, but she refused to,â Dana was giving her all for a Best Supporting Actress that night. And her husband was holding his expression as best as he could.
âFunny, I told her myself a few weeks ago,â his eyes narrowed, and you prayed that your cheeks didnât start burning red.
âYou know what? Iâm gonna go check if my blood pressure isnât acting up again,â you went for a not so subtle French exit. âIâll see you guys later.â
You slipped out of the small circle before your face caught on fire. You found the bathroom, taking slow deep breaths in front of the mirror. No, Dana couldnât be right. You were in a room full of people, and still JoaquĂn was the one acting faster enough to prevent a disaster. No, it was just luck, right?
There was no way he was paying that close of an attention to you, to your moves, to how you were standing in the middle of a crowd.
Oh, damn.
Dana was right.
And you werenât making your life easier when you walked out of the bathroom, going after a drink for you to drown the feelings you tried to keep on the bay.
It was almost two weeks later when you let yourself fall into the couch in a small room youâve made a base of on the coast of Mexico. You were out there for a mission, and the last fifteen minutes pumped more adrenaline into your bloodstream than your whole life all together. You watched Sam and JoaquĂn take off and fly back to the base.
And your feelings? Unfortunately youâve been carrying them around every single day, trying to not show how youâve fallen for JoaquĂn faster than you couldâve imagined. And now you were splashed all around the floor, hoping he wouldnât notice.
âHey! Did you see me kick that guy? It was awesome!â Youâre not surprised when JoaquĂn entered the room, helmet in hand. Still high on his own adrenaline, as per usual.
âYeah, I saw that, Torres.â You agitated your hand, and he noticed you on the couch.
âÂżEstĂĄs bien, chica?â
âYup, just tired.â
âI know youâre not really fainting,â he blurted out, not really looking at you anymore. He was more concerned with removing his wings after a long day. âI mean, the first time you did look like a ghost, but after that? You were faking it, right?â
Your heart froze. You would look better if youâd come clean, right?
âFirst time was real, but the other two were my friendâs idea. She had this stupid theory,â and you shut yourself up before the explanation started to sound cheesy. âNevermind.â
âNo, por favor, enlighten me. What was her theory?â Â
âNo, itâs so stupid.â
You tried to shake it off, but JoaquĂn and his amazing agility got him closer to you in no time. His attentive hazel eyes were on you, and your cheeks heated up.
âShe said you probably catched me the first time because you were paying attention to me, not to the debrief,â your voice died on your throat at every word, until the silence filled the space between you too. âSo the other two times, it was a test.â
JoaquĂn watched you, expressionless face.
âSo you were, let me get this right,â he took two steps back, then moved his body back and forth, and looked at you, âOh my, JoaquĂn, please, Iâm gonnaâŠâ
While you knew you fell like a potato bag every single time it happened in the last few weeks, JoaquĂn gracefully fell over your body on the couch, his arms catching him and avoiding a nasty collision between you. His face was a few inches from yours, the biggest grin on his lips, and if he got one inch closer, you bet he couldâve heard your heart beat.
âI think I reenacted it perfectly.â
âNo, it wasnât like that,â you tried to avoid his eyes. âI was justâŠâ
âYou wereâŠâ He was still pushing you to say what has been boiling over for weeks now.
âI told you I was faking it! What else do you want me to do?â
âI donât know. You tell me, cariño.â
You rolled your eyes. Such a tease. And you had to fight back.
âSo you were really paying attention to me, hm?â
âWhat if I was?â
âIt means Dana is right,â you rested your hands on his shoulders.
âYeah, she is,â he looked from your eyes to your lips. âPlease donât do that again.â
âWhy not?â
âBecause if you wanted me to hold you,â his right hand held your waist, âor kiss you, you just needed to ask.â
You smiled.
Maybe you had fallen for JoaquĂn more than two times, but he definitely fell harder for you.
a/n: hope you guys liked it! i'm writing a few oneshots and drabbles with joaquĂn, and i hope to get them posted sometime next week. also huge shout out to @live-love-be-unique for the feedback and encouragement! you're all welcome to send some ideas or requests my way via asks or dm!
Everytime you post about smut blurbs, my Eddie loving brain goes đ”âđ«đ« Any chance you have something for inexperienced!Eddie being completely overwhelmed with fooling around for the first time and just cannot get over how lucky he is to be touching/tasting reader? Heâd be so overcome with lust and desire that he wouldnât be able to control all his pretty noises đ„”
"You okay?"
You pulled away from Eddie's kiss, lips clicking apart and your nose bumped the boy's. He was breathing heavy, lips swollen and cheeks pink, flushed with the excitement from having you atop him. He'd been making soft noises, little groans every time you shifted, your fingers sweeping over the back of his neck and into his curls until he'd gasped.
Eddie nodded, looking up from his place underneath you, eyes hooded and pupils blown wide. He was all stumbling movements and unsure hands, petting softly at your sides before he got really into it, gripping the skin on your hips almost too tightly when your tongue licked into his mouth.
"Yeah, yeah, m'good," he breathed out, words wavering, each syllable tripping over his own tongue. "You're just really fuckin' pretty."
You scrunched your nose at his compliment, hid your smile and your soft eyes by dipping back to kiss him again, chest to chest and arms wound around his neck. Your tongue touching his made him groan, a sweet, pretty sound that made you kiss him harder, deeper. Eddie let out huffs of breath every time you parted, chasing you for more like he couldn't get enough.
And when you rocked your hips over his, the soft cotton of your shorts catching against the zipper on his jeans, you whined and Eddie grunted, lashes fluttering and his blunt nails pressing half moons into your sides. He held you tightly, like he couldn't believe you were there - like you'd fly off at any moment.
"Still good?" You whispered and god, you sounded smug, you couldn't help it. The resident bad boy was putty underneath you, clinging onto you like you were the one thing keeping him on this earth. "Eddie?"
The boy nodded dumbly, eyes on you mouth, wondering if his was as pink and swollen as your own, kiss bitten and pretty.
It was.
"Yeah, fuck-- you're just, you-- can't believe you're making out with me, y'know? Shit, you're just really fuckin' pretty and oh, fuck--" Eddie cut himself off with a gasp when you attached yourself to his neck, lips trailing over his skin, the stubble along his jaw. "Christ, don't stop, fuck-- fuck, keep doing that."
You grinned into him, lips on his neck, right underneath his ear and you let your teeth graze the skin, felt him shiver against you. His hands crawled up your back, slipping under your shirt to trace the line of your spin and Eddie let his head fall back onto the couch cushions, eyes closed.
"What're you doing to me," he groaned and it didn't sound like a question at all. It came out like a plea, like a prayer.
"Want me to stop?" you asked softly.
"No, fucking hell, please no."
⊠sequel to SILENT DEVOTION âŠ
pairing :Â patrick zweig x f!reader | art donaldson x f!reader | patrick zweig x tashi duncan
rating :Â explicit
word count :Â 23.3k
contains :Â smut 18+, obsession, delusion, stalking, jealousy, toxic relationship, abusive relationship, manipulation, cheating, oral sex, vaginal sex, anal sex, rimming, masturbation, eating disorder
summary : Patrick Zweig had finally noticed you, but not in the way you had always dreamed of. After rekindling his relationship with Tashi only to break up soon after, he turned his attention to you, seeking revenge on both his girlfriend and his distant best friend. There started a secret relationship fueled by twisted desires and mutual manipulation.
Patrick Zweig wrote on your wall. Hey, need to talk to you. Add me on aim (zweigpat).
Your fingers trembled as you clicked on the aim icon and began typing Patrick's username. You had no idea about the matter he wanted to discuss, but specifics were irrelevant in that moment. Patrick Zweig wanted to talk to YOU and no one else. Homework could wait, and grades suddenly felt insignificant. This was far more important. As you typed the first word into the chat box, everything around you faded away, the world growing still and silent.
You: Hey Patrick: Hello! You: So what's up?
The message on your Facebook wall had vanished. Was he trying to hide the fact that he was talking to you? You didn't mind being his dirty little secret. If anything, it made the situation even more thrilling.
Patrick: Nothing much, I was just wondering how are you all doing? You: Sounds like bullshit, what are you scheming Zweig? Patrick: Alright, I want to get back with Tashi⊠And I donât know if she would be open to the idea. I know you guys are friends and I thought maybe you could help me with that.
Friends? Hardly. The thought of helping him get back with Tashi made your stomach turn. Patrick was yours, and you knew you could never compete with Tashi. Yet, the temptation was undeniable. You longed to see him back on campus, to have him close, to watch him play tennis with Art, to see him devour lunch. You even missed overhearing him and Tashi through the door.
You: Have you talked to her? She's been quite down since you left..
You couldn't reveal that Patrick was actually the least of her concerns. Her recovery had been long and difficult. As the weeks passed, her prospects of regaining her status as a tennis prodigy grew more and more uncertain.
Patrick: Did she mention me?
She hadn't, but to keep the conversation going, you had to lie.
You: Sure.. Patrick: What did she say? You: Canât tell you, sheâd kill me! Patrick: Come on! You: I can only tell you that she feels lonely.
Considering how much time she was spending with your boyfriend, she was anything but lonely.
Patrick: Noted, thanks <3. How's Art, by the way? He's not really responding to my texts.
The sight of the heart icon on the screen stole your breath away. Butterflies swarmed within you until there was little of you left. Was it genuine? Or was it out of habit? Was this the kind of message he was used to sending to Tashi?
You: We havenât been talking that much either⊠Patrick: Did you guys break up? You: Not that I know of, heâs just very busy. Patrick: Busy with what?
You were hesitant to tell him the truth.
You: Guess⊠Patrick Zweg is typing. Patrick: Oh, so they played us both? B-) You: Donât worry he will be back when heâs horny. Patrick: Donât say that. Artâs not that type of guy. Heâs a good one.
Patrick held Art in high regard. And Art played that role perfectly. He was charming, endearing, the kind of man destined for marriage and fatherhood, fully devoted to his family. But you didn't desire that with him, and he didn't desire it with you.
After offering reassurances about your relationship with Art, Patrick signed off for tennis practice, leaving you staring at the screen. Finally, you had a means to contact him at any time, day or night.
â
It didnât take long for Patrick to be back on campus. It appeared that Tashi lacked as much self-restraint as you did when it came to him.
Spotting him in the main quad under one of the colossal arches, despite being fifty feet away, you immediately recognized him by his unique aura. The man-of-your-dreams-you-want-to-ride-to-ruins aura. He leaned against a wall, cigarette in hand, observing some students playing footbag, a grin on his face.
He now sported a short, tousled beard with hints of red highlights. One of your high school girlfriends had once told you that her older boyfriendâs beard had been bleached by her pussyâs juices. You wondered if the same applied to Patrick. If so, who were the lucky girls and how many of them were there? It hadnât been long since he had returned, yet you found yourself consumed with jealousy. Making yourself sick over a mere speculation, not even a fact.Â
You also wondered if his cock shared the same fiery hue? In your recollection, dark curls adorned his lower abdomen, though it had been quite some time since you last saw him bare-chested.Â
As soon as he caught sight of you, he dashed over and enveloped you in a hug, his cigarette dangling from his lips. He appeared before you in a simple ensemble of a sweatshirt and jeans, the fabric obscuring the contours of his arms and thighs that you once found fascination in observing. âHey you!â Unsure how to respond, you shakingly wrapped your arms around him, returning the embrace. Inhaling deeply, you took in his scent, feeling a closeness you had never experienced before, yet paradoxically distant due to the barrier of his thick clothing. The blend of his cologne and sweat stirred a sense of homesickness within you, as if Patrick had always been where you belonged, your home.
He pulled away from the hug, a huge beam on his face. You were confused by his action. He had never so much as touched you before, so hugging you was a whole new level. Was the sudden intimacy due to the fact that it was only the both of you? Free from the presence of Tashi and Art?
âWhat brings you here?â You inquired politely. "Tashi." He replied, a sly grin forming on his lips. Your eyebrows arched in surprise. "Oh? Congrats!" You mustered a semblance of happiness, though it was a challenge. What a fucking cunt. You were glad she had brought him back here, but you couldnât shake the thought of Patrick being all over her later tonight and fucking her like never before. "I should get back. Sheâs waiting for me. Didnât want me to smoke inside." He said, extinguishing his cigarette with a stomp. How could she? Watching Patrick smoke was the most enticing thing ever.
âI guess I will see you tomorrow for lunch?â You asked, hopeful. Tashi couldnât monopolize your man like this. She should at least let you have him for lunch and dinner. Watching Patrick eat was one of your small joys. He was a messy eater and devoured his food as if his strict athlete's diet didn't exist. He often ended up with food all over himself and stains on his shirt, but you found it endearing. Every time, you had to resist the urge to lean over the table and lick his face clean. âSure, see you.â
â
The day had been dragging on slowly. Classes were boring, and being back at your dorm wasnât any better. You laid on your bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for the hours to pass. A knock pulled you out of your reverie. When you opened the door, you found Art standing there with a huge grin on his face. Of course, he was here now that Tashi was busy. âHey babe.â He enveloped you in a hug and planted a kiss on your jaw. Babe? You had never been the type to use pet names before. "I missed you so much." He mumbled, his mouth all over your neck, covering it with kisses. You knew he was lying, you hadn't crossed his mind a single second before Patrick's return.
You tilted your head, allowing more of his attention, feeling the warmth of his breath against your skin. "Itâs been so long, I thought I was single." You teased, a playful edge to your voice. Art whined softly at your comment, his pout making him look even more guilty. "You know phones exist, right?" He avoided the question with a nuzzle against your neck, his lips brushing your skin in a way that sent shivers down your spine. "You think Iâm just going to take you back because youâre acting all cute and affectionate?" He nodded eagerly, his eyes wide and hopeful. "You will have to work for it." Your hand moved to the waistband of his shorts, pulling it back just enough to peek at his growing arousal. "Work very hard." You added, your voice dropping to a husky whisper. Truth was, you didn't really want him back in your life, but horniness was making you take unwise decisions. The logical part of your brain screamed caution, but the way he looked at you, the sight of his beautiful cock, and the familiar scent of him clouded your judgment. Plus, at this exact moment, Patrick was likely balls deep into Tashi and you couldnât do anything about it.
He flashed a triumphant smile at you, clearly pleased with your response. Without breaking eye contact, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head, revealing the toned muscles beneath. Taking your hand, he guided you towards the bed, his touch gentle but insistent. Artâs intentions were clear. He was ready to show just how hard he was willing to work to win you back. The night was young.
â
You: Guess who came back sucking on my tits the second you came back. Patrick As expected? You do have really nice tits.
Had Patrick been paying attention to your body? His words kept replaying in your mind, each repetition making your core grow hotter. You had never considered your breasts as an asset until now. Sure, you knew you had decent-looking boobs, Art had been crazy about them, but realizing that Patrick looked at them with such appreciation changed everything. At that moment, you decided that bras were now out of your life.
You: Did you take a look at Tashiâs tits between two sessions of eyeing mine? How are things going between you two? Patrick: We talked. Kinda. Fucked too.
The news, although very predictable, hit like a sucker punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You wanted to cry.
You: So thatâs why I have Art back. He canât do anymore ass kissing with Tashi if your tongueâs already there. Patrick: Why are you so mean to him? You: Donât you think it was unkind to leave me alone for weeks?
Patrick did not respond to the message, leaving your question hanging in the air. Patrick was capable of doing anything except accept the fact that Art was a flawed human being.
â
Lunch in the cafeteria did little to alleviate the tension among all of you. While things seemed fine between you and Art, your relationship with Tashi remained strained. As for Patrick, you didnât know. One second he was complimenting you and the other giving you the cold shoulder, so it felt. Aside from a few insignificant remarks, everyone was mainly silent. âLetâs go practice.â Art said, nodding toward Tashi. Tashi gave Patrick a gentle kiss on the cheek. You half-expected Art to do the same out of courtesy, but your cheek remained untouched. You didnât exist when Tashi was around. They gathered their trays and headed to the counter, leaving you and Patrick alone.
âArt is pissed at me, I donât get it. Itâs not like I tripped Tashi.â Patrick blurted out. âEven Tashi forgave me!â He sighed, leaning back in his seat before switching to another. âTo be honest with you I never understood why they were mad at you to begin with.â You shrugged. It had all happened so suddenly that you had no time to analyze the situation. Artâs unkindness was still a mystery. âOh thank god, I thought I was going crazy.â He said, sitting down next to you and grabbing a slice of bread from your tray, taking a bite. There was something oddly captivating about his chewing and the crumbs scattered across his lips. You found yourself wanting to lick them off. âI can try to find out whatâs bothering him, if you want.â You offered, your gaze still fixed on his lips. âYouâre a saint.â He said, puckering his lips and blowing a kiss at you.Â
Was this how Patrick Zweig behaved when he saw you as a friend? His overly flirtatious manner was making it difficult for you to think clearly. âOh, far from it.â You replied absentmindedly, your mind filled with unholy thoughts of laying him on the table, straddling him and tearing his clothes off. âYouâre right, Iâve heard things.â He said with a playful grin. You rolled your eyes and stole the slice back from him, taking a bite. âIf you want my best guess, heâs just being an ass. Thatâs his thing lately.â
â
The routine was back on : Art would clandestinely enter your room at night whenever the urge struck him. Without so much as a word or invitation, he'd launch into a monologue about his day. After a few minutes of venting, he'd typically undress you and fuck you until dawn. While the encounters were generally pleasant, not always culminating in climax. Art knew well enough how your body worked to make it worthwhile.Â
Art was sitting on your bed while you occupied the desk chair, both of you facing each other. "Patrick seems to be worried you're mad at him." You mentioned, uncertain of what response to anticipate. You were already convinced that Art was pissed off at his friend and deep down, you knew why. Would Art lie to you or be brave enough to assume his conflicting feelings toward his friend. As Art unbuttoned his pants, he glanced up at you, his expression almost incredulous. Was the idea of you conversing with Patrick really so unbelievable? "How do you know that? Do you two talk?" He questioned, a nib of jealousy detectable in his voice. "Sometimes. He used to ask a lot about Tashi and you while he was on tour. He wanted to ensure both of you were doing well. He missed you guys tremendously." Art snorted loudly, his tone tinged with amusement at your sudden interest in Patrick. "Typical of him. Chatting with everyone except the ones who matter." He remarked, pulling off his shirt. "He just wanted assurance that you'd be open to hearing from him. Canât you understand that and be nice?" He tossed the shirt in your direction. "Are you joining the Patrick Zweig fanclub now? Should I call him up so you can give him a warm welcome?" He mimicked a fellatio, his fist thrusting towards his face as his tongue pressed against his cheek. Yes, please, do it. The idea was enticing, you couldn't deny. âYouâre insane.â You sighed, standing up and throwing back the shirt with force. "I hate how effortlessly everything falls into place for him. He believes he can simply return, and everything will be back to how it was." You rolled your eyes as you sat beside him and gave his thigh a comforting pat. "He's your closest friend. He came back for you, and yet, you're treating him like shit. At the very least, you should have a conversation with him." You urged, pressing your lips against his in an attempt to soothe him. "He came back for Tashi." He corrected with a hint of frustration. Tashi again. You liked the girl, most of the time, especially when she would get Art out of your hair, but she was beginning to hit on your nerves. "And what if he did? You're always with Tashi too. Would you blame him?"
With a playful shove, you pushed him onto the bed and straddled him, firmly pinning his hands above his head. "Now, be a good boy and make up with your best friend before I really call him and give him a warm welcome." You teased. He laughed, swiftly rolling you over so that he was now on top, his hands gripping your thighs. You appreciated these rare moments when he would take control. "Give me a warm welcome instead." He murmured, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
You had to admit, it felt surprisingly good having Art back in your life. He was scratching an itch you couldnât quite reach on your own. But you weren't naive, you understood why he was there. It irked you that he was playing the same manipulative game you were. If you didn't outwit him quickly, you would end up being the punchline of this twisted joke. You knew it was time to have a serious talk with Tashi.
â
After your passionate moment with Art, he decided to take your advice and talk to Patrick over a game of tennis. With the boys out, you found yourself standing in front of Tashi's door. When she opened it, her surprised expression spoke volumes. "Can I talk to you?" you asked softly. She hesitated only for a moment before widening the door to let you in. The room was filled with Patrick's belongings, his distinctive scent lingering in the air. You sat on her bed and patted the spot next to you, inviting her to join.
"I need to have this conversation with you because I consider you my friend and I trust you." The words felt hollow, a facade masking your true intentions. Initially, your approach was far from genuine, but over time, you'd grown to appreciate and even admire her. Yet her recent distance had revealed how little she valued your friendship and you simply stopped giving a fuck about her. "Even if I felt abandoned by you." You continued, a hint of vulnerability seeping into your voice. She nibbled on her lips, anxiety evident, and nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry about that." She murmured. "I know your injury isn't easy to handle, and I could have been there to help you through it. But you chose Art over me." Here came the guilt-tripping. If you wanted to regain the upper hand, they needed to see how poorly they had treated you. Perhaps realizing how much time they'd spent together lately would open their eyes and finally bring them together, leaving you to be Patrick's shoulder to cry on. "I didn't..." She began to explain, but her words faltered, lacking conviction. "I didn't see either of you for weeks. But then suddenly, yesterday, Art remembered I existed. And I know why. Because last night, you chose Patrick over him." You revealed, trying to play the part of the wronged woman. Lowering your head, you pretended to struggle with voicing your concerns. "You're being ridiculous, we're just friends. I swear." She protested. Whether she truly believed it or was simply an incredible actor, she sounded convincingly sincere.
âI donât know what is going on between you twoâŠâ You played with your nails in an attempt to act hesitant. âNothing!â She assured you once more. âBut please, stop playing with us, itâs unfair. I donât want to be the girl he uses to jerk off in when youâre not giving attention to him. And Iâm sure Patrick doesn't want to be just a dick to you.â The words were crude but necessary.
âThings like this happen all the time. I can understand, I wonât make a scene. But please, stop lying to yourselves. And if Iâm wrong and thereâs nothing, please make things clear with Art so he finally stops hoping you will notice him.â If she didn't grasp your point now, Tashi Duncan truly was the dumbest girl you knew. "Alright. I will get going. Goodnight, Tashi. I hope I will see you around." She nodded and muttered a small âgoodnightâ to you.
You closed the door behind you, unable to suppress the smile forming on your lips. Tashi was feeling like shit. Good. You hoped she would question everything in her life. You knew your plan would work better on Tashi than on Art. More than being called a cheater, Tashi dreaded being called a manipulator and a bad friend.
â
You sat on the floor of your room, a magazine in your hands, tensely flipping through the pages but the words and images couldn't hold your attention. You were anxiously waiting for Art to arrive. You were supposed to go out tonight, and part of you wondered if he was trying to make amends for the distance he had put between you over the past few weeks. But he wasn't there. He was more than an hour late, and you had no message from him. Where the hell was he? More than the date itself, you were impatient to find out if Tashi had mentioned your little encounter to him.
Finally, a knock sounded on your door. "Come in!" You called out eagerly. When Patrick entered your room, your voice wavered. How unexpected. âTashi just broke up with me.â He revealed, prompting you to roll your eyes in response. Your scheming had paid off. Tashi had made her choice, likely explaining Art's absence. A surge of triumph swept over you. However, Patrick appeared devastated so you held it in. Fortunately for him, you would be there to cheer him up.
"Grab a beer from the fridge.â You gestured, hoping to ease him into opening up to you. Gaining his trust was crucial, it could lead to anything. "What was the reason?" You inquired casually, masking your enthusiasm. "She said she realized what we had was going nowhere." He replied, bending over to retrieve a bottle from the fridge. Your gaze lingered on the curve of his backside. What a firm tasty looking ass.
"So I guess that's why Art's not answering." You questioned, though you already knew the answer. Flipping a page, you pretended to be deeply engrossed in your reading. "We were supposed to see each other, but I guess I'm nothing next to Tashi Duncan." You muttered, reflecting on how your perception of her had changed in just just a few minutes. You used to think Tashi Duncan was the shit, the girl who had everything you wanted. She had Patrick, a promising future, passion, and beauty. Now, she was just a single girl with a shattered future and a useless passion.Â
"What's his deal?" Patrick asked as he uncapped the bottle and settled down in front of you, his long, muscular legs crossed. Even the simplest gestures from Patrick ignited a fire within you, leaving your body warm and your mouth dry. You found yourself mesmerized by the curl pattern of his leg hairs and how his shorts barely grazed his thighs, revealing faint tan lines. "I'm not sure he's into me." You confessed, feeling vulnerable in Patrick's presence for the first time. Everything before had been calculated to sneak yourself into his life, but now you spoke the truth. No matter how much you had manipulated Art, it seemed he was playing you back. "Who wouldn't be into you?" Patrick's words echoed in your mind. Who indeed? Then why, Patrick, aren't you? You knew he was merely being kind, yet his comment caused your heart to skip a beat. You lifted your gaze to meet his, offering a grateful smile.
"I think his heart is elsewhere." You stated, locking eyes with him. "I'm sure there isn't anything between him and Tashi." He attempted to reassure you, though you sensed his own growing doubts. "I don't mean just Tashi." You interjected, raising your eyebrows, silently urging him to catch on. It took him a minute. "Oh. I don't think Art swings that way." He chuckled nervously, taking a sip of his beer to deflect the tension. "Do you?" You asked, curious to discover more about the man you had loved for so many years.
He gazed into the void, quiet for a few moments before sighing and shrugging his shoulders. âI donât know. Maybe?â His eyes absentmindedly fixed on your magazine. So it seemed boys were in fact also in the competition for Patrickâs heart. You fought the urge to sigh in frustration, not wanting to appear judgmental about his sexuality. âI actually had a crush on Art back when we were teenagers. Did he tell you about the jerking off?â His eagerness to share the story was palpable. âHe did. We had a pretty wild night after that.â You replied, recalling the intense masturbation competition you both had after the story.
"You're welcome." He chuckled, flattered by the revelation. You had never truly noticed the timbre of his laughter before, finding it almost heavenly. If you weren't already deeply in love with him, you might have fallen again right then. In that fleeting moment, you found yourself fixating on his teeth, marveling at their straightness and whiteness despite his smoking habit. When he grinned, it was like he had more teeth than seemed humanly possible, each one perfect in their own way. The desire to feel them sink into you surged through you, an urgent need that couldn't be ignored. You needed him. Tonight, you decided, would be the night you fucked Patrick Zweig. But for that, you had to make a move. "You know, my first time humping a pillow sort of involved you too.â You confessed, finally revealing one of your deepest secrets to someone else.
"Me?" You nodded, then continued with the story. "I was a young, impressionable girl, and what's more impressive than sweaty, shirtless tennis players? You just happened to be there." You lied. He was the sole focus of those fantasies. There was no one else present, just Patrick and his ridiculously tight shorts. Like tonight, just you and him and those damn shorts. "You're welcome, once more." He teased, bowing as if he were an actor on the stage of your imagination. "You should have approached me back then. I would have gladly helped you make those fantasies more vivid, maybe by showing you a ball or something." He remarked with a playful smile, to which you managed to respond, though inwardly you felt like crumbling. Years spent trying to capture his attention had led to nothing. And now, he was casually admitting to being open to anyone back then? Did that mean you weren't good enough to be even just âanyoneâ? "Do you ever remember seeing me back then?" You asked him, needing to hear the truth, no matter how painful. He pondered it for a moment, long enough for you to realize he didn't recall. "I wish I could.â He replied. Why did he wish that? Did he see your presence in his life as something valuable? You remained silent, your gaze fixed on the magazine, trying to absorb the words on the page to keep tears at bay.
"What about you, by the way? Have you ever experimented with a girl?" His question broke the silence, and you silently appreciated him for that, despite the randomness of the inquiry. You could feel yourself sink into sadness before that. âMaybe?â You answered briefly. âThatâs all? Tell me more!â He took a sip of his beer and leaned closer, eager to hear your story. âIt was brief and innocent so donât get excited.â You sighed, pointing your index finger at him. âToo late!â He joked, smirking at you. âYour girlfriend, well ex.â You continued, noting the sudden change in his expression. His face had dropped instantly. âJust a kiss.â You reassured him. âIâm not sure how I would label myself but that night if she had wanted to experiment more, I think I would have gone along with it.â It was true, you would have fucked Tashi, regardless of whether Patrick had been involved or not. âBelieve me, Tashi has experience with girls.â He remarked, leaving you momentarily stunned. It made perfect sense, though you felt a pang of disappointment. âOh so it was just me not being her type?â You feigned heartbreak, clutching your chest as he nonchalantly shrugged in response. In reality, that revelation really stung, another missed chance to explore what Patrick had experienced. âThatâs ok, Iâm still young. I have time to fulfill my fantasies.â You said with a pretended tear-wiping gesture, masking your true feelings.
"What kind?" His question felt intrusively intimate. His body so close to yours as he was delving into your kinks. This scene reminded you of the scenarios you often imagined late at night while teasing your clit. âI donât know. There are many things I havenât experienced. Like eating a girl out, pegging, cuckolding, choking, stuff like that.â Why did admitting your kinks in front of Patrick make you feel embarrassed? You wanted him to see you as someone open to anything, a woman comfortable with her sexuality, and the epitome of a cool girl.
"Choking? Art doesn't even do that?" He asked, confusion written all over his face. Art had probably recounted the one disastrous attempt you both had made. "Not really." You admitted with a sigh. "We tried, but he's too scared he will hurt me so he was more or so⊠hugging my neck, like a scarf." You grabbed the beer from his hand, took a sip, and then placed it back in front of him. "I should give him a class.â He joked, smirking at you. "Oh, so you're an expert?" You teased, feeling the conversation shift into flirtation. You had to analyze your game and play your cards right. You watched him gulp down the rest of the beer, a proud smile spreading across his face. He nodded.
"The trick isâŠ" He began. "...to place your hand near the collarbone, not up here." He pointed to the area beneath his chin. "It's not about applying too much pressure, unless thatâs what youâre into, of course. It's about holding firmly. And it's better to squeeze the sides of the neck rather than the front."
"Like this?" You placed your hand around your neck, attempting to follow his advice.
"No, wait. Stand up." He instructed. Both of you stood, and he placed his calloused used-up hand around your thin neck, gripping it firmly. In that moment, you felt like his racket between his hands. You let out a slight gasp, licking your lips as your eyes locked with his. The moment his hand closed around your neck, you realized it wasn't the sensation of being choked that enticed you. It was the feeling of surrendering control, of putting your life in someone else's hands, that made your legs tremble. Without thinking, you reached for his crotch, grabbing his dick through his shorts. He was semi-hard. He looked at you, confusion flickering across his face as he immediately released his grip on your neck. "Don't do that, or I won't be able to control myself." He warned. You had crossed the line, there was no way back now.
You surely didnât want him to control himself. You craved for him to take you right there, right then. Continuing to stroke his length, the fabric was the only thing separating you from the object of your fantasies. He buried his face against your shoulder, a mixture of neediness and hesitation evident in his actions. You slipped your hand into his underwear and pulled out his dick. After hearing Tashi talk about it so much, you had imagined plenty of things, but the reality was beyond your expectations. While its length was a bit above average, it was the girth that was truly remarkable. You couldnât ignore the sight of his uncircumcised head. You had only seen those in porn before, and you werenât sure how to proceed. "WowâŠâ You stepped back until you reached your desk, sensing his inner conflict about whether to retreat as well. Perching on the edge of the desk, you seized the elastic of his pants and pulled him closer. You licked your palm, ensuring it was slick with saliva, then wrapped your hand around his length. Slowly, you pulled back his foreskin to reveal his head. Your eyes remained fixed on the captivating beauty of Patrick's member. Patrickâs hands, which had been resting still on your knees, slowly made their way up your legs. His touch burnt your skin. If he touched your thighs just right, you knew you could come on the spot. His hands were now under your dress, exploring the fabric of your panties. You were thankful that Patrick had found you on a date night. You were clean, shaven, and wearing your sexiest underwear. You gasped when you felt one of his hands slip inside your panties, his fingers brushing against your folds. Oh my god, Patrick Zweig was touching your pussy, and you were touching Patrick Zweigâs dick. You bit your lower lip, anticipating as he rubbed your cunt. You continued to jerk him off, reveling in the sounds you were eliciting from him.
In a swif movement, he slid the straps of your dress down, exposing your bare tits. With one hand, he fondled your breast, while his index finger delved inside you. Leaning in closer, he circled your nipple with the tip of his tongue. "Patrick..." It was the first time you had moaned his name directly to him, a name usually reserved for your private moments alone. You parted your legs, inviting him closer, still stroking him energetically with your hand. A second finger quickly joined his buried index but you wanted more, you wanted him. "Fuck me..." You pleaded, gazing at him with desperate eyes. He met your gaze and withdrew his hand from your panties, stirring a whimper from you at the loss of contact. You could sense the conflict in his expression. He knew it was wrong, but the desire was overwhelming. You knew it was for you. He closed his eyes briefly, exhaling heavily, then shifted the crotch of your underwear aside. You felt the tip of him rubbing against your entrance before he swiftly entered you. If he wrestled with his conscience, it was a fleeting battle. You wrapped one leg around his hip and gripped his buttcheeks, pulling him closer to you, seeking the intimacy and connection you had desired with him for years.Â
There was nothing tender or affectionate about your actions, you both moved with an animalistic urgency. Patrick was fucking you in a way that no one had before. The noises escaping your lips were uncontrollable, matched by Patrick's own passionate moans. Determined to give him an unforgettable experience, you poured all your energy into matching his thrusts with your own, both of you lost in ecstasy. While Patrick lavished attention on your nipples, your lips yearned for his touch, craving attention amidst the raw intensity of your pounding.
Both of you were so absorbed in outperforming each other, striving to make the other come the quickest, that neither of you noticed the sound coming from the door. There were insistent knocks. âItâs me, Iâm sorry Iâm so late.â Hours late, Art's voice finally came through the door. Patrick placed his hand over your mouth to silence you. The presence of Art outside seemed to drive him to fuck you even harder. You sank your teeth into his hand and tugged at his hair, determined to elicit delicious sounds from him. You were silenced but he wasnât. You were willing to risk being caught just from the thrill of it. Just for the sensation it would bring you in that exact moment.
âI talked to Tashi⊠I understand if youâre madâŠâ Oh, you were the opposite of mad right now. âText me if youâre awake.â And with that he left. Had Art been more persistent and attempted to turn the doorknob, he would have stumbled upon you, legs entwined around his closest friend, who was avidly thrusting into you with his shorts pooled around his ankles.
Patrick's hand left your mouth and returned around your neck, the other firmly gripping your ass. The lack of air made you desperate to moan his name, but all that escaped were gasps as you tightened your legs around him, drawing him nearer. Despite feeling dizzy, you continued to bounce against him eagerly.
You longed for him to meet your gaze and kiss you, but Patrick kept his head resting on your shoulder, eyes closed. The only sounds were the manifestations of his pleasure through his moans and cries. You sensed his body shudder against yours as he gripped the base of his dick, preparing to withdraw.
âNo! Fill me up, please.â You begged, voice barely audible. You reached between you, grasping for his balls and squeezing one firmly. They were full, brimming just for you, and you couldn't bear to waste a drop of that precious seed. âIâm on the pill.â You assured him. Patrick only needed little persuasion to remain deep inside you. As a final effort, you tightened around him, intent on luring every last drop from him. He grunted your name as he climaxed inside you. His gaze locked on you as you welcomed his release, each slow thrust pushing you closer to the edge. It was watching Patrick reach his peak and call your name that finally pushed you over, making you explode in a breathy moan.
Patrick Zweig had come inside you. You had made Patrick Zweig come. You! Patrick Zweig! The reality of it was almost surreal, but the warm sensation inside you served as a proof.
He finally released your neck, and you let out a loud gasp, panting to catch your breath. As he slowly pulled out, you whined at the loss of contact, quickly closing your legs to keep his load inside you for as long as possible. The silence that followed made you anxious. He had not said a word yet, just looked at you, biting his lower lip nervously. Was he regretting it already? Then he started laughing. What the hell was so funny? He wrapped his arms around you, resting his head against your breast. You let yourself melt into his embrace, stroking his hair. "I wanted to do that for a while.â He confessed. Did he? Really? "Me too." You replied quickly, relief and joy flooding through you.
â
Afterwards, you had continued to fool around in your bed for hours. Mouths and fingers exploring every body part. Now it was daylight and you laid sprawled across him, your limbs entangled in an intimate embrace. Your head rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat like a comforting melody. As your fingers twirled the soft curls of his chest hair, Patrick held you close, his fingertips gently caressing your hip in a soothing motion. You wanted him to fuck you once more, but something seemed to be holding him back.
You could hardly believe it had happened. The only evidence was the state of your sheets: wet and stained with various body fluids. And the ache in your cervix. Tashi had been right about that too. Patrick loved sliding himself fully inside, regardless of the pain it caused.
The delicate way he touched you felt far more intimate than when he was inside you earlier. You still craved his kiss, which he refused to give. Every single time you had tried to move closer to his face, you were met with his cheek. Werenât you good enough for him?
âIâm going to break up with him. As soon as I regain the use of my legs.â Patrick chuckled, playfully hitting your thigh. âNo, don't do that.â No? Why not? You just had sex with your boyfriendâs best friend. Wasnât this the beginning of your life with Patrick? âIf heâs going to mess around with my girlfriend, I might as well borrow you from him.â Your heart sank. Was this all it was? Revenge? You wanted forever with Patrick, not just a quickie to get back at his ex and his friend. Yet, if this was the only way to have him, you were willing to be part of his scheme. âYou know I messed around with your girlfriend too.â You reminded him, hoping he would see how ridiculous his plan sounded. âShould I fuck Art to get back at you then?â He proposed. Okay, so he thought all of this was a joke. âOnly if you let me watch.â You said, a smirk on your face. You were going to play his game until he would realize that you are the only one for him. You could do that. Fuck Art. Literally and figuratively. In response, he pinched one of your nipples. You whined, sinking your teeth into his in return. âDo you have any place to stay tonight?â You asked, covering his chest with gentle pecks. You were curious to know if he would accept Artâs invitation to sleep on the floor of his dorm when you had a perfectly good bed for him. All he had to do was fuck you.. "I guess Artâs room.â So you werenât even good to sleep next to. âArt invited me to the Kappa Sigma party." Patrick mentioned casually. Ah yes, the party. You had received an invitation as well. The captain of the tennis club, a frat boy, had extended invitations to the entire club. It appeared both you and Patrick were Art's plus ones.
You weren't particularly looking forward to the event. Tennis players were so⊠psychotic. Except Patrick, of course.
âIâm invited too. Wonât it be awkward to be in the same room as Art?â You traced kisses up his neck, following the curve to his jaw. Gradually, you moved towards his lips, but just as you approached, he turned his head, and your lips brushed against his cheek. He still refused to kiss you. You had fantasies of becoming his little whore for years, and now those desires were becoming a reality. You were only good enough for his cock. âWhy would it be? Youâre his girlfriend, Iâm his best friend.âÂ
â
After a second and third round, Patrick finally left your room. Despite the hurtful words he sometimes spoke, having sex with him felt instinctive. Whether your legs were draped over his shoulders, wrapped around his waist, or spread beneath him, he always knew how to make you come.
Time had come to prepare for the party.
The most challenging part of your routine came first : taking a shower and erasing every trace of him. Unsure of whether you would be able to experience feeling Patrick so deeply inside again. The fleeting thought of stopping your pill and keeping your legs crossed for a couple days to try and baby-trap him had crossed your mind. Yet, you quickly had dismissed it. If you weren't good enough to be kissed, surely you weren't the ideal candidate to be the mother of his children. Yet. You had to convince yourself that it was only because he didnât know you well enough yet, to prevent bursting into tears in the shower.
Once you finished cleaning yourself, you turned on the radio, filling the bathroom with music as you applied makeup in front of the mirror. You had gotten better at this. With effort, you could clean up nicely. Gray eyeshadow was a reliable choice as well that complemented any outfit, ensuring you couldn't go wrong. Adding a touch more blush than necessary, you finished with pink lipstick. Releasing your hair from its tie, you slipped into a short red dress with spaghetti straps. You paused to scrutinize your reflection in the mirror. Your stomach had flattened noticeably, yet it still lacked the tone you desired. You also noticed the creases your thong was creating against your hips. You discarded the problematic underwear and replaced it with simple black lacy panties. It wasnât the most appealing choice when naked, but it looked much better under your dress. You doubted you would end up with Patrick tonight anyway. At best, you might lure a drunken Art into your bed, and that man didnât care about anything other than your bare cunt.
Art and Patrick knocked on your door around 8 PM. When you opened it, they stood side by side, the tension between them seemingly dissolved. Was mutual betrayal the secret to a long lasting friendship? They looked striking together, almost like a destined pair drawn to each other despite their differences. Art, the polished one, sported blue jeans paired with a buttoned-up blue shirt, his hair styled just the way he knew you liked. Patrick, the more casual counterpart, wore a black T-shirt, that you knew was borrowed from Art, and washed denim jeans. His hair, ruffled and wild, seemed to have escaped a brush since you had viciously tugged on it earlier. Art was a sight, you knew it by the heads turning every time he walked into a room. But Patrick was the one who cut your breath away.
"Hey babe." Art greeted, planting a soft kiss on your lips. "Looking good.â He added, his eyes sweeping over you from head to toe. "You look like a slut." Patrick mouthed. You beamed at him. From that man? That was the best compliment you could get. "Thank you." You answered Art, though your gratitude was directed at Patrick. âHello Patrick.â You greeted him. He only responded with a nod.
The frat house lay just a short ten-minute walk from your dorm, yet at that moment, you regretted choosing high heels over flats. Why did girls always have to dress sexy, enduring the cold just to catch the eye of their crush? Shivering slightly, you felt Art's arm wrap around your waist, drawing you close as you walked together. Patrick trailed behind, silent.
Arriving there, the frat house lived up to your expectations : it was smelly and not particularly clean. You stayed close to Art and Patrick as a group of boys and girls engaged in a lively discussion about the next tennis match. Their enthusiasm for the sport amused you. In that moment, you couldn't help but think of tennis players as the nerds among jocks. As the conversation shifted to the US Open, you noticed Patrick had drifted away. Probably dreading the moment they would finally ask him how his career was doing. Spotting him leaning against a wall with a beer in hand, you couldn't suppress your grin, feeling like a lovesick schoolgirl showing all her teeth. He returned your smile. A simple gesture that filled you with warmth knowing you were the reason behind that blinding smirk.
Your moment was interrupted by Artâs hand on your back, inattentively stroking it. His fingertips ventured under the stram of your dress, lightly tickling your skin beneath the fabric. While you and Art werenât the most affectionate couple in public, reserving touch for intimate moments, his gesture on your back was one of the few he dared to display openly. You sensed Patrick's gaze burning into your back, his stare affecting you more than Artâs touch. You watched him drink his beer, his eyes fixed on your back. When he finally looked up and met your gaze, he tilted his head, silently commanding you to follow as he left the room. Without hesitation, you stood and followed him, though you quickly lost sight of him. Suddenly, a hand grabbed you, pulling you into the bathroom. It was Patrick, leading you into a cubicle. Once inside, he locked the door behind you both.
The small cubicle barely had enough room for both of you, and the smell made you want to gag. But those details were insignificant, your heart was pounding faster than ever. Patrick had requested you. He set his empty beer on top of the toilet and stood before you. "Blow me." He commanded in a whisper, his gaze fixed intently on you.
He didn't need to ask twice. You dropped to your knees before him. There was something deeply degrading about kneeling on the piss-stained floor of a frat house bathroom, but you were more than willing to endure it for Patrick. You unbuttoned his jeans and unzipped them, then pulled his pants and underwear down his legs.Â
This was all you had ever wanted : to worship him like the god he was. Kneeling before him, you showed your devotion, rubbing your face against his full sack, nuzzling him like an animal in heat. You never knew a smell could make you so wet until now, the mix of sweat, soap and musk drove you wild. You tried to wrap your lips around one of his balls, eager to suck on it, wanting them in your mouth. Looking up, you saw him watching you with curiosity. Maybe you should save your freaky side for later.
Grasping the base of his cock, you trailed your tongue along his shaft, coating him with saliva. You looked up, striving to maintain eye contact with him. You wanted him to see how well you were taking him, to realize that you were made for him, that your mouth was meant to receive him. You pulled his foreskin back, licking around the crown and flicking your tongue over his slit. He whimpered, running his hands through your hair before grabbing handfuls and tugging on it. Wrapping your lips around his length, you started giving his cock big sloppy sucks, cheeks hollowed. "Look at you..." He whispered, before pushing himself deeper into your mouth. You moaned at his action, sending vibrations to the head of his cock nestled at the back of your throat. While you loved having him inside your pussy, nothing compared to the sensation of him filling your mouth. Cupping his sack, you started palming it, applying just the right amount of pressure. You bobbed your head, taking more of him with each movement. As his pubes began to tickle your nose, you knew you were close to taking him fully. Yet, you pulled away, wanting him to beg you to swallow his nut. âNo, donât stop, pleaseâŠâ That was fast.
In an effort to make this as pleasurable as possible, you teasingly licked your index finger, sucking on it long enough to give him the chance to stop you if he wasnât comfortable. When he didn't, you placed the wet tip against his asshole, pushing past the barrier of flesh slowly, quarter inch by quarter inch. You werenât sure if Patrick had ever experienced anything there before, but he didnât seem to mind your finger seeking out his sweet spot. Your curiosity had led you to spend hours researching prostates online, so you knew exactly how to find it. You curled your finger, applying pressure to his prostate, causing him to whine. He loved it.Â
Your lips returned to their place, wrapped around his length and Patrick wasnât static anymore. He was now fucking your throat like you were just a hole for him to use. Each thrust drove his tip against the back of your throat. Drool dripped uncontrollably from your mouth. You gagged once but quickly refocused, determined to keep your throat open. It felt as if your future with Patrick hinged on the quality of this blowjob. Tonight, no sore jaw or nausea would stand in the way of your goal. Your finger movements matched the rhythm of his thrusts, intensifying the sensation. After a few minutes of intense sucking, he pulled back slightly, keeping just the head of his cock in your mouth. He was throbbing. He came, mouth agape and eyes shut in ecstasy. God, he looked stunning.
You swallowed his semen and stuck your tongue out, showing him what a good girl you were. You had swallowed a lot of Artâs cum in the past, but this had been an entirely different experience. A revelation. You had tasted Patrick, and now you wanted to consume him whole, to suck him dry every hour until his balls ached and he begged you to stop. You craved only his DNA inside you, nobody else, not even yours. You wanted to disappear and become an extension of him.Â
Patrick rubbed the tip of his dick against your tongue, making sure he was clean. He then wiped the corner of your mouth with his thumb, fixing your smeared makeup. Your makeup was now ornamenting the base of his dick. You withdrew your finger from inside him. He started dressing up next, hiding his still semi-hard cock in his underwear, adjusting it. You helped him pull up and zip his pants before rising to your feet. It was time to leave. This was usually when he would begin to act distant, as if you somehow repulsed him in a post-nut clarity. Smiling awkwardly, unsure how to behave, you exited the cubicle.
Although a part of you had wanted to lick your finger clean and get another taste of him, you had opted to scrub your hands with soap instead, not wanting him to think of you as even more of a freak. You were bent over the sink when he placed his hand on your butt, massaging it firmly. You werenât disgusting to him anymore? You could feel one of his fingers pressing against your asshole through your underwear trying to return the favor. âYou have the most fuckable ass on earth.â He whispered into your ear, his warm breath tickling you. Was he out of his mind? You had starved and pushed yourself to your limits to get a butt like Tashi's, and you were still far from achieving it and yet he wanted to fuck yours. You looked at him, confused, in the mirror's reflection, almost in awe that the man of your dreams was drawn to you. "It sounds so tempting, but you know we can't stay here foreverâŠ" If the thrill of being caught was a motivation for him to act interested in you, you could play along. Patrick's fingers were now caressing you through the fabric, from your clit to your ass. He could feel how wet you were. You let out a gasp and quickly slapped his hand away. "Behave, and maybe I'll accidentally leave my room unlocked tonight." You left the bathroom first, trying to appear inconspicuous. No one was around to see Patrick following you out of the cramped restroom.
When you joined him, Art was engrossed in conversation with his classmates about a demanding coach and difficult training, topics that went over your head. Had he paid any attention to you, he would have seen the smeared makeup and disheveled hair, but he didnât. You found their discussion boring and wished they would talk about something more general. Boys could be so boring. Except Patrick, there was nothing dull about Patrick. Where was he now by the way?
You scanned the room, expecting to find him alone in a corner or engaged in conversation with some guys. But that fucker had chosen to piss you off. Your attention was drawn to two girls deep in conversation with Patrick. Both were attractive, one a tall redhead and the other a petite brunette. Though they were only chatting, you sensed their interest in him. It seemed everyone wanted to fuck Patrick given the chance. One of his remarks made them both laugh. Who the hell were those whores? The only thing that reassured you in this situation was the way his eyes would occasionally meet yours while he spoke, as if he was silently watching over you.
You leaned closer to Art, resting your head on his shoulder, hoping to elicit a reaction from Patrick, but nothing. You needed to grab his attention. You trailed soft kisses from Art's shoulder to his neck and finally whispered behind his ear. "I really want to kiss you." You attempted to sound seductive, but your voice remained raspy from the aftermath of Patrick's cock forcing its way down your throat.
Art smiled at you and leaned closer, offering himself to you. You eagerly grabbed his face between your hands and passionately kissed him. His lips tasted like liquor and you could tell he had consumed a significant amount by his lack of concern regarding the presence of his peers witnessing the sloppy kiss happening before their eyes. You were practically shoving your tongue down his throat. The idea of kissing him with the very same mouth that had just taken Patrickâs load moments earlier was more thrilling than the kiss itself. Would Art taste his best friend on your tongue? Would he attribute the tangy aftertaste to the drink you had earlier? As you pulled away, you noticed Patrick watching you both with a smirk. You could tell he had thought the same exact thing as you.
You pulled away and whispered into Art's ear. "Baby, I'm really tired. I'm going to sleep. See you tomorrow." You kissed him goodnight and left the common room.
You already anticipated that Patrick would follow you to your room minutes later to finally have what he couldn't get earlier.
â
The doorknob to your bedroom turned, and you knew it was him. You were lying in your bed, on your stomach in your underwear, pretending to read a book. In reality, you had meticulously prepared yourself the first few minutes, ensuring you were immaculately clean inside. The remaining quarter of an hour was dedicated to selecting the perfect position for him to discover you in. After locking the door behind him, he stood for a moment, taking in the sight of you, before sitting on the edge of the bed. His hand roamed over your thighs and the curve of your butt.
"I canât believe you kissed Art with that nasty mouth." He chuckled, playing with the elastic of your panties, his fingers brushing against your ass cheek. You dropped your book on the floor, rolled onto your back and looked at him with a taunting smile. âOh Iâm sure he loved the taste of it.â You teased. His hand now rested on your lower stomach, gently stroking it with light fingers. Your skin was burning under his touch. He seemed much less interested in that part of your body. âI used to spit his jizz back into his mouth and he would always swallow it like a good boy.â Patrick let out an unexpected snort, the sound echoing softly in the quiet of your bedroom, catching you off guard. Was he making fun of you? âI canât believe you even exist.â What did that even mean? Was he repulsed by you and your actions? The fact that his hand lingered so close to your womanhood, yet he refrained from touching you to ease the fire in you, didnât reassure you much. What if you had ruined everything?
He leaned in closer, closing the distance between your faces. It was something you had observed about Patrick before : how intimately he needed to be to communicate. He looked at you with a yearning in his eyes, a playful giggle escaping his lips. It was clear he had indulged in a few drinks as well. "What?" You asked, a smile on your lips as your eyes remained locked with his mesmerizing green gaze. "I want to taste that tongue too." He said. Oh god, it was happening, the moment you had always waited for, when everything in your life would suddenly click into place. "Then do it." You teased, sticking your tongue out playfully at him. Kissing him would mean crossing a new boundary in your relationship. It wouldn't just be about fulfilling primal desires, it would also satisfy your craving for affection.
You could feel the heat of his breath mingling with yours. You closed your eyes as his tongue brushed against yours with an hesitant lick. His light touch, more a hesitant exploration than a proper kiss, initially caught you off guard. Deciding to take charge, you closed the remaining distance and drew him into a proper kiss, imbued with urgency.
You wanted to consume him entirely, to have him whole within your mouth. Your lips pressed fervently against his, tongues dancing and exploring. Patrick tasted of beer, a sharp reminder of his earlier indulgence and the actions that followed. In that heated moment, you wondered if he could sense the lingering taste of his own flesh and Art's touch upon your tongue. The kiss was wet, a bit too eager, your mouths struggling to find harmony. Patrick was a messy kisser, and you savored every chaotic second of it. His enjoyment was evident in the sounds he made : a captivating blend of moans and gasps for air.
Saliva mixed as your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, wanting more of him, needing more of this connection. His hands found your hip, drawing you in until there was no space left between your bodies. Each movement desperate, as if trying to convey all the unspoken words and feelings you had kept hidden all at once.
When you parted to catch your breath, you kept your lips pressed against his, inhaling his oxygen as if it were your own. Wow. You thought, still trembling from the encounter. Your world would never be the same now that you had experienced such bliss. Once more, the visions washed over you, images of wedding, babies, and growing old together. But they were abruptly interrupted by Patrick's impatience. "Roll over, I want to see your ass." He demanded. He didn't need to repeat himself. You existed to fulfill his every command. If he desired you as his slave, you would oblige without hesitation. You surrendered onto your stomach, glancing sideways to observe his next move. He gently pulled down your panties, and you assisted by lifting your hips. His hand came down hard on your butt, delivering a sharp spank that silenced any further movement from you. A startled moan escaped your lips in response. It seemed like if there was one thing in this world Patrick Zweig took seriously, it was ass play. After the sting of the slap, he replaced it with warm, tender kisses on your bottom. He slid his fingers between your cheeks, circling your asshole before gliding down to your womanhood, plunging his index finger inside you. "You're so wet for me..." He murmured. You bit your lower lip, nodding eagerly. You were always wet when it came to him, as if his presence kept you in a constant state of arousal. He added a second finger, spreading them apart to widen you. "Get on all fours for me. Spread those sweet cheeks of yours." He commanded. You obeyed without hesitation, getting on your knees and reaching back to spread yourself open for him. Your chest supported your body weight as you positioned yourself, completely exposed and vulnerable, offering yourself fully to your lover, your panties hanging on your legs.Â
Then, his lips joined in, and you felt his tongue on your clit, softly sucking the bud. A moan of his name escaped your lips. His face was buried deeply between your legs, the tip of his nose brushing against your entrance. It was so different from when Art went down on you. Art was meticulous and slow, but Patrick was messy and eager, mirroring his kissing. You couldn't tell if you were extra wet or if Patrick was just salivating like a starving man. His tongue slid up to your asshole, and he began flicking it there, sending shivers through your entire body. His fingers had withdrawn from inside you, but they still lingered, teasing your swollen folds, roughly massaging your clit, almost abusing it. You were a moaning mess. It was the first time Patrick took the time to focus solely on your pleasure. Sure, it was likely a prelude to fucking you afterward, but for now, his own gratification wasnât directly involved. He just wanted to make you come. He was lavishing you with long, deliberate strokes of his tongue, starting from your ass and trailing to your pussy, teasingly inserting the tip into both openings each time. As his tongue worked its magic on your pussy, you felt the waves of your first orgasm building. You gasped, pushing your hips back toward him. "Pat-..." You moaned, your legs trembling, making it difficult to stay on all fours.
His fingers neared your asshole, his index circling it before slipping the first joint inside, your juices acting as lubricant. The sensation was underwhelming, you could barely feel his touch. Why was he acting like you were a virgin? Why was he handling you so gently? You yearned for him to ravish you like a wild animal. "Fuck me already!" You whimpered, glancing back at him. He withdrew, gazing at you as if seeking confirmation, then hastily pulled off his shirt and unbuttoned his pants, kicking them off in a rush.
"Got any lube?" You nodded, opening the bedside drawer. It was filled with an assortment of accessories that made Patrick snort. "Youâre well prepared." He joked, leaning over you to rummage through the drawer. When he grabbed the lube and started to pour some onto his fingers, you stopped him. "Not too much. I want to feel you stretching meâŠ" You said, watching as he bit his lower lip, clearly affected by your words. He coated his length with a quick stroke of his hand, then positioned himself behind you, teasingly rubbing his tip against your entrance. You had always thought it was impossible to hate Patrick but in that moment, you found yourself oddly resentful of Patrick. After several agonizing strokes along your crack, he finally pushed himself into your ass. You gasped, unprepared for the sudden fullness and the way he stretched you wide. You expected him to at least take his time with his cock, that wasnât the case.
"You've got all these toys, but deep down, you're just a cockslut." He remarked. And maybe he was right. After all, most of those toys had been used with thoughts of Patrick's cock in mind. "Look at you, swallowing me whole. So hungry." He observed as you clenched around him with all your might. It wasn't as effortless as he made it sound, but there was no need for him to know that.
He rested his hands on both your hips and began moving inside you at a deliberate pace. You instinctively pushed back against him, syncing your movements with his. The sensation of his balls slapping against your entrance sent a rush of heat through you. His balls were undeniably your favorite part of him. Was it because of their symbolic significance, representing the potential to mother his child one day? Or was it their aesthetic appeal, hanging so perfectly beneath his thick cock? You couldn't quite pinpoint the reason. Releasing your grip on your cheek, you placed your hand over his on your hip, interlacing your fingers with his as he thrust into you with increasing intensity. Oh my god, you were holding Patrick Zweigâs hand. Well, sort of.Â
You really were losing it. Patrick Zweig was fucking you in the ass, and all you could fixate on was the sensation of your hands touching. âFuck, youâre so tightâŠâ He murmured, spurring you to tighten even more for him. As enjoyable as his thrusts were, it was his voice and fervor that pulled the moans from your lips. His free hand left your hip and stealthily made its way to your clit, massaging it with the same intensity as his movements. The combination of his fingers on your sensitive bud and the rhythmic impact of his balls against you sent waves of exquisite pleasure through your body.
You glanced back at him and were struck by his breathtaking beauty. Sweat droplets clung to his hair and nose, his mouth hung half-open, and his eyes were locked on the point where your bodies met. When he caught your gaze, he placed a firm hand on your head, pressing you into the pillow. Without missing a beat, he continued to ram into you, his grip holding you down as he drove you both to the edge.
Tears streamed down your face, but there was no pain, only an overwhelming sense of euphoria. This was divine. The joy of being with him, of fulfilling his desires, consumed you entirely. It was an ecstasy you could no longer contain. "MoreâŠ" You pleaded, pressing yourself closer to him, needing him with an intensity that bordered on desperation. He was pounding into you like a man possessed, your comfort an afterthought. The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed through the room, a rhythm that matched the frantic beat of your heart. The delicious sound filled your ears, heightening your pleasure. When your second orgasm took you over, you werenât quite ready for it. You wanted to explode at the same time as him to experience bliss by his side but your body had betrayed you. You tightened around his cock and let out a high-pitched moan, almost too quiet to hear. Patrick continued a few more thrusts before reaching his own climax and when he finally came, he collapsed onto you, pressing you into the bed. His chest heaved against your back, his breath hot on your neck, his cock still buried deep between your cheeks. You felt him more intensely than ever before, his heat consuming you from the inside out. Breathless, sweaty and tear-streaked, you buried your face in the pillow, feeling him panting above you. He brushed the hair off your face and kissed your neck tenderly. âWow⊠babyâŠâ He whispered in your ear. Baby? If he wanted to kill you, he had just found the way.
â
Patrick had stayed the night, and it had been far more intimate than the previous one. After fucking, you both had showered together, which inevitably had led to more sex. The shower had felt somewhat pointless as you had ended up lying naked together on your stained sheets. Patrick had lit a cigarette, and amidst casual conversation that covered everything and nothing, he had mentioned his concerns about the tour not going well. You did your best to reassure him, emphasizing how he was the best player you knew and only needed to regain his confidence. He had also confided in you about the pressure from his parents to pursue a more conventional career. You had always assumed being the golden child of a wealthy family would be the easiest thing in the world, but Patrick seemed to be struggling under the weight of his family's expectations. After discussing his challenges, he had turned the conversation to you, asking about your classes and showing genuine interest in your life. It had made your heart flutter, while you enjoyed hearing about him, it meant a lot that he had wanted to know about you too. The night had continued with passionate making out until your tongues were sore, and eventually, you had both drifted off to sleep in each other's arms.
Yet, your bubble was on the verge of exploding. He was officially leaving campus tonight. Determined to prolong your time together, you had skipped classes, rarely venturing out from your room except to fetch food. Clothing had become an optional inconvenience, discarded whenever possible.
You both lay naked on the bed, your head at the foot while Patrick rested at the other end, his legs extended. The room had fallen into a comfortable silence. Between the moans that had ceased and the exhaustion that lingered, words seemed unnecessary. "You've got cute toes." Patrick remarked suddenly, his finger tracing a line along the arch of your foot. "Toes?" You asked, taken aback by the unexpected attention to such a trivial body part. Was Patrick secretly a freak like you? âYeah, mine are all fucked from the tennis shoes.â He raised his foot to your face, exposing bunions and calluses. As you examined his foot closely, memories of a particular sock hidden under your bed flashed through your mind. A sock you had savored so intensely that it had become even more pungent, forcing you to wash it reluctantly. The desire to experience that tangy taste again overwhelmed you. Fixating on his foot, you seized it and enveloped his big toe with your lips, sucking gently as you gazed into his eyes. As you continued, you pressed your own foot against his crotch, massaging it. Despite the redness and swelling from the intense attention it had received throughout the night, Patrick seemed to overlook any discomfort, lost in desperate moans of pleasure. You switched to his second toe, giving it the attention it deserved. And so on until all of his toes were covered with saliva. "Had worse in my mouth." You chuckled, your foot still working him over. Patrick bit his lower lip, curious. "Like what?" He asked. "Oh, you know, your best friend's cock." You shrugged, causing him to sigh. "No need to be a bitch about it, you sucked him plenty, no?" Was trash-talking his friend off-limits? Wasnât what he was doing even worse than that? "I thought it was alright until I got a taste of yours." You explained, hoping to lighten the mood.Â
"I've never felt like this before." You confessed, inching closer to Patrick to meet his gaze. You sensed your words had stirred something within him. "I will never be the same." Cupping his face, you compelled him to look directly into your eyes. "Do you think I can go back to how I was living before you?" You didn't wait for his response, pulling him into a deep kiss. Deep down, you knew his answer wouldn't be what you wanted to hear. Kissing Patrick felt inexplicably right, it was a sensation you doubted anyone else could comprehend. His tongue entwined with yours, sending sparks through your body, his rough lips meeting yours in a perfect union. When you finally pulled away, you both lingered in a silent exchange, words seeming futile. "Let's grab lunch, he's probably waiting for us." Patrick muttered, stepping back and retrieving his clothes from the floor. If you wanted Patrick all for yourself, Art needed to get the fuck out of your lives as soon as possible.
â
"Did you make it home okay last night?" You inquired, your gaze fixed on Art. The glare you shot him betrayed your frustration. You hated him for even existing. "Yeah, I got back early." He replied calmly. The three of you were seated at a table, sharing a meal. You couldn't help but notice how effortlessly Patrick reverted to his usual self, while you struggled not to fixate on him and envision his fingers up your cunt. It infuriated you that he could act so nonchalantly, treating you almost like a stranger. "Really? Then why didn't you text this morning?" The accusatory question slipped out unintentionally. You hadn't bothered checking your phone much that morning, but the absence of any message from Art had surprised you when you finally did. You were itching for a confrontation, and any excuse would do. "Practice. Lost track of time." Art explained, sensing your displeasure. He knew he was in hot water. "I was waiting for your messages." You replied curtly. "Patrick and I had a lot to catch up on." Patrick? Your Patrick? The same guy who was fucking you all night? "Oh really? You were with Patrick?" You squinted at Art. He turned to Patrick, hoping for backup. Patrick nodded. "Yeah, we hung out." He lied. You had always sensed that he would choose his best friend over you, and now you were certain of it. "You're a terrible liar." You accused Art, raising your voice. "And you're no better." You pointed at Patrick, disappointed by his lack of support.
Pushing your barely touched tray away, you stood up. "I was with Tashi, but I didn't want to upset you... I knew you'd get mad." Art confessed finally. "I'm just mad that you're a liar." You sighed. "I talked to her, I think youâre mistaken about us." Art tried to reassure you. "So you donât only talk to me when you're horny?" You confronted him, eyebrows raised, waiting for an explanation. "I don't do that." He claimed. What a fucking liar.
"Then why do you disappear when it's not about sex?" You demanded. "I haven't forgotten our date two days ago. Just one date, and you couldn't make it until it was too late to go out because you were with another girl. Do you think I'm stupid?"
At that point, you were grasping for reasons to end things with him. You didn't care if he had slept with the entire team on the frat house floor, or even Tashi. What mattered was that he was holding you back from your love story with Patrick. Without waiting for his response, you walked away from the table. You may have been the one labeled a cheating lying whore, but Art was the one left feeling in the wrong. Good.
â
You were hiding in your room, seething with anger at both boys. Patrick, for siding with Art, and Art, for simply breathing. A knock on the door interrupted your fuming. You walked over and opened it to find Patrick standing there. "I wasn't expecting you." You said, stepping aside to let him in. No matter how angry you were, you couldn't leave him standing at the door. You locked it behind him. "I told Art Iâd talk to you after your fight." He began. You sighed, already bored with the conversation. "What was that about, anyway?" He asked, looking genuinely confused. He didnât seem to grasp how irrationally you could act when it came to him. "I'm mad at you too." You confessed, crossing your arms in front of him. "Me? Why? I was just trying to act unsuspicious." He said, raising his hands innocently. "So no matter how sore my ass gets, Art is always going to be your favorite?" You asked, hoping he would reassure you of your importance to him. He didn't answer. "I said I would try to talk to you, but I was thinking of using my tongue in a better way." Sex, again. The only thing that really worked between you two. He wrapped his arms around you, placing a soft kiss against the side of your neck. You tilted your head, letting him nibble on the skin there.
Before you knew it, Patrick was beneath you, his hands on your breasts as you rode his face. His tongue delved deep inside you, expertly fucking you with it while his nose rubbed deliciously against your clit. You could tell by his gasps for air that it was getting harder for him to breathe, but you loved it. You had never had sex as much as you had this weekend, and the muscles in your thighs were terribly sore, your clit on fire, and your walls irritated but you couldn't stop. You didn't know if you would ever see Patrick again, and if you did, who knew if you would become his dirty little secret once more? You rolled your hips over his tongue, your fingers tangled in his hair, slightly tugging on it. No matter how much you focused on his mouth, you just couldnât relax. Both exhausted and saddened by his impending departure. His beard was also chafing you so bad. You lifted yourself off his face and chose to straddle his hips instead. âDonât like it?â He asked as you moved away from his mouth. âLove it, I just want to feel you.â You replied, pulling him into a sloppy kiss. His face was covered in your juices, and kissing him felt like eating your own self out. Patrickâs hands found their way to your ass, spreading your cheeks as wide as possible. You started grinding against his crotch, rubbing your swollen clit against his length. Both of you moaned into each otherâs mouths. You knew you had to be quick. It would be suspicious for the two of you to spend too much time together. But you didnât want to rush, you wanted to give him a proper goodbye. After a few more rubs, you slid your hand between your bodies and aligned his length with your entrance. As you sat down on his cock, the pain was sharp, your inner walls could barely handle the friction anymore. You werenât wet enough. You quickly pulled away and grabbed the lube bottle, spreading some into your palm and coating his length. If your body couldnât accommodate him naturally, youâd find another way to ensure he could move inside you. Tossing the bottle aside, you sat back onto his length. The slickness made it much easier.
Despite the pain, you were determined to make him come. You wanted to see his face in that moment of release, to feel him fill you up. Ignoring the discomfort, you bounced on him with relentless determination. He started thrusting up to match your pace, and you clung to his chest, riding him with fierce intensity. Nothing about your union was pleasurable anymore, but you continued, driven by a desperate need to connect one last time. You simulated a few moans to keep him engaged. The fact that you were having sex with Patrick Zweig and faking it was such a crazy idea. However, it seemed to work well enough for him to assist you in bouncing faster on his cock. He continued to fuck you passionately. Your thighs were in such pain that you wanted to give up, but you couldn't. You had to be enough for THE Patrick Zweig. Sweat was streaming down your forehead as you continued to rock your hips on top of him.
He was nearly there. His fingernails dug into your skin, and he closed his eyes. When you felt him pulsating inside you with little to no release, you realized that his body was as exhausted as yours. You collapsed on top of him, embracing him as tightly as you could. "I don't want you to leave." You told him, your eyes welling up with tears. "I know." He responded, pulling you into a soft and slow kiss.
âNow make up with him and go be a good girlfriend.â Is that what he wanted you to do? Sure, you would do anything for him.
â
Watching him depart was heart-wrenching, even though you knew he'd return soon, for Art's sake. Standing in the parking lot with Art, waving goodbye as the car pulled away, a knot tightened in your stomach. You wanted to cry, scream, throw a tantrum like a child, but you couldn't afford to. You had to maintain composure in front of Art.Â
"I'm still sorry about earlier." He said. After your intimate farewell with Patrick, you had called Art to apologize for overreacting. Blaming it on your menstrual cycle, you had claimed you forgot to take your pill yesterday, and Art had paid the price. This excuse also bought you a few days' respite from him coming near your inflamed crotch. Or so you thought.
He enveloped you in a hug from behind, nuzzling your neck. "Did you go for a run again? You smell." He remarked, catching a trace of Patrick's sweat. Despite your shower, it seemed your body was becoming intertwined with Patrick's. "Yeah, I will go take a shower." You replied, meeting his gaze. "Let me come with you, I could use one too." He suggested eagerly. Dread filled you, but if Patrick wanted you to pretend nothing had happened and fuck Art, you'd comply.Â
In your bedroom, you hurriedly shed your clothes, aiming to get to the shower and scrub yourself clean between your legs before Art joined. "Did you smoke in here?" He asked, making your heart race. Caught red-handed. Despite opening the window and changing the sheets, Patrick's scent lingered. "No, but Patrick was here earlier, trying to convince me not to dump your ass." You deflected, shrugging it off as you stepped into the shower and drew the curtain. Desperate, you lathered soap over your folds, trying to erase any trace of Patrick. It stung horribly. Art joined you in the shower, his hands exploring your body eagerly.
"Art... We shouldn't... My pill." You pleaded, attempting to halt his eager touch on your swollen clit, but he persisted. A gasp and a grimace of pain escaped you, mistakenly taken by him as sounds of pleasure. "I can still make you feel good." He insisted, dropping to his knees and lifting your leg onto his shoulder, burying his face in your crotch. You whimpered as his tongue teased your clit. Why was he so fixated on eating you out? Couldn't he be more like other guys who enjoyed being blown? "What if I'm bleeding?" You tried to dissuade him, but he disregarded your concern. "I don't care.â He replied. Freak. "You're so swollen, I think you might really be ovulating." He commented, his tongue still flicking over your pussy. With a sigh, you closed your eyes, praying for this to end as fast as possible.
Thank goodness, Art proved to be a gentle lover with a smooth chin. It wasnât exactly pleasurable, but at least it didnât exacerbate the discomfort you were already feeling. Once again, you summoned your acting skills to feign enjoyment, letting out a fabricated moan as he continued to explore your labia with his mouth. Gripping his wet hair firmly, you emitted another simulated whimper. Art delved his tongue deeper, and you silently hoped any trace of Patrick was long gone. "I'm close..." You murmured, then closed your legs around his head, simulating an orgasm. He released your leg and stood up, wrapping his arms around your neck and kissing you deeply.
For a brief moment, guilt crept in within you for manipulating the boy. However, you quickly reminded yourself that he had only ever been a conduit to Patrick, nothing beyond that.
â
It had been a few days since Patrick had come home. Although he was physically far from you, your relationship had grown stronger. You would talk online for hours, and on lucky nights, you would get to hear his voice when he called you on the phone.Â
That day, you had spent hours at your computer, waiting for Patrick's AIM icon to turn green. It was already too late for you, you could tell you were madly in love. Your life revolved around Patrick, and you wanted to be available whenever he needed you. You lived to serve him. You had always been a bit excessive when it came to him, but now you were a lost cause.
You: So whatâs up with you? Patrick: Thinking about your tight cunt. You: Are you? Patrick: Send pics.
He wanted a picture? Of you? That was concrete proof that you were a significant part of his life. Significant enough for him to want to keep a part of you with him while he was away. You hastily kicked off your sweatpants and hurried to your desk to grab your compact camera. Setting the timer, you bent over and spread your cheeks in front of the lens. Flash. Grabbing the camera, you examined the picture closely. You looked huge. Placing the camera back on the desk, you reset the timer and sucked in your stomach this time, ensuring to spread your labias wide. Another flash. This one looked a bit better. Your crotch looked so much healthier than during his visit. You connected the camera to your laptop and dropped the picture into the conversation.
You: You sent a picture. Patrick: Fuck, I want to be inside you so badly. You: Can I get a picture too? Patrick: Patrick sent a picture.
It exceeded all your expectations. The photos revealed Patrick's lower abdomen, his hand gripping his erect penis tightly, and his large sack prominently displayed. Unfortunately, you couldnât see his face. Was he biting his lips? Were his eyes closed? Was he looking at your picture while touching himself? It didnât really matter, your hand was down your panties anyway, touching yourself.
Patrick: I qualified for the Sacramento Capitals. We could see each other then. I could come pick you up tomorrow. You: Really? I would love to.
Ever since Patrick had filled you and made you complete, classes seemed utterly pointless. Skipping a few days and failing them didn't concern you. It was evident you were securing your future as an athlete's wife. However, Art posed a challenge. He expected you to always be there, playing the role of the sweet, devoted girlfriend.
You: What do I tell Art? Patrick: I donât know, find an excuse. Your family catâs dying or something like that. You: You know my pussyâs already dying for you.
It only took a second for your cell phone to ring. âHello?â You answered, a smile on your face. âAm I speaking to the aching pussy?â He teased. "Aching is the word. You fucked me so hard I could barely piss without it burning like hell." You whimpered, prompting a chuckle from Patrick. "I know the feeling. Is it still sore?" It had only just started to calm down after four days, the perfect amount of time to feign a painful period and keep Art's dick as far away from you as possible. "No." You replied. "Then make it sore for me again." He said, catching you off guard. Patrick wanted phone sex? "Grab one of those little toys you have.â He instructed. You opened the drawer and picked out your favorite purple vibrator. "What should I do with it?" You teased, you knew what to do but you wanted to hear him say it. "Is it a vibrator?" He asked, his voice husky. You hummed in confirmation. "Play with your clit.â He commanded. Positioning the toy against your bud, you switched it on. "It's on." You gasped, the vibrator buzzing against your clit. "Are you stroking yourself too?" Your voice was breathless with anticipation. "Like hell, I am." Patrick replied, his voice deep and filled with desire. You imagined him as he appeared in the picture he had sent you earlier, and a moan escaped your lips at his revelation. "Imagine it's my pussy milking you." You whispered, matching the rhythm of the vibrator with the pace of Patrick's heavy breathing. "I'm fucking you so good, you're so tight around me." He groaned, his voice sending shivers down your spine. You closed your eyes, picturing Patrick above you, his body pressed against yours. "Play with your tits, just for me." Patrick urged, his voice thick with arousal. With your free hand, you slid under your shirt, grasping your breast and massaging it, imagining Patrick's hands on you. "My nipples are so hard. Like my clit." You moaned, your arousal building with every word he uttered. "Patrick..." His name escaped your lips like a plea. "I'm so hard too, baby." Patrick murmured, the endearment sending a rush of heat through you. Minutes passed in a haze of pleasure and desire. You felt your pussy clench around the vibrator as it vibrated against your folds, mirroring Patrick's intensity on the other end of the phone. "Patrick!" You groaned, the sound echoing through the room. You heard him whimper on the other side of the line, confirming he was just as affected. "Good girl, I hope you'll be as good tomorrow." Patrick whispered huskily, his voice low and intimate, leaving you breathless and eager for more.Â
"I miss you so much. I can't wait to see you." You panted, the dildo still vibrating beside you. He had already hung up.
â
Coming up with an excuse had been easier than expected. Art was a family man, so when he heard about your sick aunt's health declining and your mom wanting you to be there, he nearly insisted you leave immediately. You mentioned that your cousin could pick you up tomorrow for the drive back home. It was the best you could come up with, knowing he would have insisted on meeting any other family member.Â
That night, he had decided to stay over to offer his support. Throughout the night, he had managed to remain appropriate, but now it was morning, and you were both cuddling in bed. His morning wood was pressing against your stomach. "I will miss you so much." He murmured, his hands wandering to your ass, giving it a squeeze. You could feel his desire, his need for you. Your aunt was dying, and he wanted to have sex? What a weirdo. There was no way you were going to let him spoil your body. You needed to be squeaky clean for Patrick. "I will miss you too." You lied, trying to keep your voice steady. His hands became more insistent, sliding into your pajamas, but you were determined not to give in. You pulled his hands out of your pants and shook your head. "I'm not really in the mood... Want me to blow you?"
Fellatio was the easiest way to get him to come. It only took some energetic sucking and a few tight strokes before he would make that weird sound and release himself. Today wasn't any different. After about ten minutes of bobbing your head and moaning as if it were the most appetizing treat, Art exploded in your mouth. Exactly what you didnât want. You had hoped to trick him into coming into your hand, but he had not warned you beforehand. Now what? You had always swallowed before, you couldnât just suddenly spit it out. So you swallowed his cum reluctantly, then hid your face in his neck, pulling him into a hug. You felt sick.
You glanced at his watch. Saved by the bell. "Don't you have to go?" He followed your gaze to his wrist and sighed. "My coach is waiting." He placed a soft kiss on your lips and began dressing in the clean clothes he had brought from his room. You watched him, feeling indifferent. "Don't forget to text me once you're there." He reminded you. You nodded. "Have fun at practice." With a wave, he exited the door, leaving you alone.
The moment he left your room, you rushed to the bathroom, kneeling in front of the toilet bowl. You shoved your fingers down your throat, forcing yourself to be sick. You needed to purge any trace of Art from your body before meeting Patrick. You wanted to be pure for him.
Staring at yourself in the mirror, you confronted your reflection. You were about to live the romance you had dreamt of for two full days with the man you loved, yet you had never felt so ugly. Apart from the few precious moments Patrick granted you, you hated your life and yourself and it was showing from the outside. You brushed your teeth hard, trying to scrub away the taste of your boyfriend.
â
With your travel bag slung over your shoulder, you made your way to the drop-off area. It was risky for Patrick to pick you up right outside the campus, but you didnât care. Sure, Art knew many students, but not many were aware of your relationship with him. You were willing to risk it, you had missed Patrick way too much. Besides, you wouldn't be exactly heartbroken by a breakup.
When you spotted Patrick's car, you hurried toward it, your steps quickening with excitement. You opened the passenger door to find Patrick greeting you with a big smile. You jumped into the car, closed the door behind you, and threw your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep kiss. Your tongue eagerly met his, tasting cigarettes and energy drinks. You felt like you were finally home, nestled in his embrace. It had been so long that you had almost forgotten how much you loved him. "Hey, handsome." You greeted him, your heart fluttering. "Hey, beautiful." He replied, giving you butterflies. You knew he was just mirroring your words, but you chose to ignore that fact.
Once you were buckled up and had placed your bag on the back seat, Patrick started the engine and drove off campus. The drive was only a couple of hours long, but you were excited to spend time in his company.
He offered you snacks and soda, which you declined. There was no way you wanted to feel bloated and fat in front of Patrick. The radio played some pop songs that Patrick hummed along to, making you smile. You decided to sing along, inviting him to join you. Soon, both of you were singing out loud, as if you were the only two people in the universe.
âIâm so proud of you for winning your spot there.â You suddenly said, reaching for his ear and playing with it. It was the first time you had dared to touch that part of him. Somehow, it felt like one of the most precious parts of his body, maybe because you cherished it so much. âThank you.â Patrick replied with a smile, his eyes still focused on the road as he held the steering wheel. You continued discussing tennis and university, carefully avoiding mentioning Art.
Remembering that you hadn't texted Art, you pulled out your phone and quickly typed a message.
â [To: Art - 8:13 PM] Iâm with my cousin, weâre almost there.
You tried to hide who you were texting, but Patrick noticed. He fell silent. You quickly slipped your phone back into your pocket. âWhere are we staying?â You asked, trying to divert his attention from your texting. âHotel.â He replied curtly. You couldnât believe that Art had managed to ruin things even from miles away. âWhat kind of hotel?â You pressed, trying to get him to talk more. âI donât know, a nice hotel?â He shrugged, no longer smiling. You already missed the sight of his teeth. You turned to him and placed your hand on his crotch, grabbing his dick. âWill you fuck me there?â You asked, squeezing him hard to get a reaction.
He glanced at you, biting his lower lip, and nodded. You pulled your seatbelt aside and leaned over, pulling his cock out of his shorts. âCanât wait.â You mumbled, holding his length in front of your mouth. You wrapped your lips around the head, sucking on his foreskin. âDonât.â He whined, leaning back against his seat. âI took the car right after practice and Iâve been on the road all day. I haven't had a chance to shower yet.â You looked up at him. âYou think that will make me stop? I want to do it even more now.â You said. You loved it when he was all smelly and musky. You loved your Patrick all nasty. His scent had the power to drive you mad.Â
âYouâre a freak.â He said, a smirk on his lips. You gripped his shaft firmly at the base, your other hand caressing his balls, while your tongue traced every inch of his length. Your mouth was all over him, intent on reminding him of what he had been missing out on. The intensity with which you pleased Art earlier paled in comparison to the energy you now put into drawing passionate moans from Patrick's lips.
Whether it was the distance or the thrill of performing the act in plain sight, Patrick came in no time, filling your mouth with his warm release. As you withdrew and tucked his member back into his shorts, his cum lingered on your tongue, a taste you adored. You yearned to savor him endlessly, wanting to hold onto him forever. Eventually, you swallowed, feeling his warmth settle in your stomach. It was probably the best spot to store it after your pussy and your ass.
When the car stopped at a red light, he grabbed your neck and pulled you into a sloppy kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth as if searching for something. You moaned softly, taken aback by his boldness, enjoying every moment of his embrace. The green light allowed you to catch your breath. âHow come you never try to spit it back to me?â He asked, glancing at you. How could you explain to him that you wanted to consume all of him, not letting a single drop go to waste? That you needed to be filled by him, that it wasnât just a want but a need? That his cum belonged to you alone? That it wasnât even his anymore?
âYouâre too tasty.â You mumbled, looking out the window.
â
âThis place is crazy.â You had not visited a lot of hotels but this one had to be one of the high end. âCourtesy of daddy.â You didnât know much about Patrickâs parents except that they were extremely wealthy. You imagined Patrickâs dad to look similar to him but with salt and pepper hairs and lines on his face. In that moment, you wished to still be around in the future to witness Patrick grow old and gray. You pulled him into a tight embrace and grabbed his butt. âCould I get the discourtesy of daddy then?â
âI have to sort my bag before the match and then Iâm all yours, babe.â He said, placing a soft peck on your lips before pulling away. He started rearranging his rackets and replacing the grip tape on one of them. You watched him work, tempted to tell him what you had done with his rackets in the past when you were desperate for his touch. But some things were better left secret for now. You could however reveal how seeing him with a racket was a true turn on.
"You know, I used to fantasize about your backhand." You confessed as you watched him inspect his racket intently. "My backhand?" He responded, taken aback by the unexpected revelation. "Yes." You continued, unabashed. "I wanted you to swing that racket at me with all your strength, just like you do with the ball." By now, he understood how violence was a turn on for you, but he had never ventured into anything that could potentially harm you. Did he have it in him to be the rough motherfucker you wanted him to be? "I wouldn't even care if it put me in a wheelchair or killed me." You added boldly. "I would gladly die that way."
He stared at you with a mixture of disbelief and intrigue, as if you had proposed the most audacious plan. Yet, beneath his initial reaction, you sensed he was intrigued by the notion. When he rose from his seat and took his racket, sitting at the edge of the bed, you knew exactly what was about to happen. He patted his lap invitingly. "Come here." He said softly. You obediently stretched out across his lap, presenting your butt to him. With a gentle touch, he lifted your skirt and slid your panties down, exposing your bare skin. The first smack of the racket against your flesh made you jump slightly. You whined like one of those porn girls but you couldnât help it. "Hard, you said?" He asked, his voice low and teasing. You nodded, biting your lower lip, eyes closed in anticipation. He lifted his racket high above his head, poised as if preparing to serve, and then struck you with all his might. A scream escaped your lips, tears welling in your eyes from the undeniable pain. The impact reverberated through your body, the sensation lingering deep within your core. The pain was intense, but a part of you loved it. "Is this everything you dreamed of and more?" He asked, his voice tinged with amusement. You couldn't respond, the pain rendering you speechless. Instead, you nodded, burying your face in the sheets of the bed.
"I could play tic-tac-toe on your ass." He remarked playfully, setting aside the racket. Leaning in, he placed gentle kisses on the red marks, his touch tender against the lingering sting.
Things had escalated quickly. Both naked, Patrick's head was now nestled between your legs, lavishing attention on your neglected pussy. He sucked on your clit thoroughly, as if his life depended on it. Your hands tugged at his ears, now bright red and matching the color of your swollen bud. A wave of pleasure surged through you, and you moaned his name repeatedly, like a mantra.
His tongue had soon been replaced by his cock, stretching your entrance as he pounded into you with relentless force. Your legs wrapped around his waist, your hands tangled in his hair, and you struggled to keep up with his pace. The intensity of his thrusts reminded you of the first time Patrick had fucked you, but this time, his tongue was all over your mouth, filling it with his spit. You wondered if this was how he always acted when desperate for cunt. The sensation was overwhelming. You could feel yourself leaving your body, every muscle tensing up as you clenched hard around his dick. The orgasm surged through you, and you moaned into his mouth, your cries muffled by his eager kiss. Your body trembled, riding out the waves of pleasure as he continued to thrust, his own moans mixing with yours in a symphony of ecstasy.
"I'm about to comeâŠ" He gasped, swiftly withdrawing. He knelt over you, stroking himself as he hovered above. His gaze locked onto your breasts as he exploded all over your chest. Though you had fantasized about being covered in his semen countless times, you couldn't help but feel disappointed that all that cum was going to waste.
âThis is so hot. Can I take a picture?â He queried, grabbing his phone on the bedside table. âYou donât need to ask, I would do anything for you.â You confessed, posing for the picture, eyes staring into the lens and legs parted.
â
That morning, you woke up nestled in Patrick's warm embrace. Despite the lingering soreness from the night before, you felt a rare sense of complete happiness. Patrick slept soundly beside you, his arms wrapped around you. With the match scheduled for the afternoon, you knew you had time to enjoy the quiet moment, watching his peaceful expression. It still amazed you that such a handsome man belonged to you, in a complex, undefined way, but still belonged to YOU. You cherished every part of him. The unruly eyebrows, the envy-inducing lashes, the delicate freckles on his prominent nose, his full lower lip, and the stubble that adorned his square chin. You gazed at him, knowing deep inside that you could never love anyone more. You remained there, lost in admiration for over half an hour until he stirred awake. As he opened his eyes, you leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss on his lips, finding charm even in his morning breath.
You sat upright in bed, the sheets draped over your naked body, feeling discomfort radiate from your sore ass. Every movement seemed to intensify the pain, so you opted to recline back against the pillows.Â
"What time is it?" He asked, rubbing his eyes sleepily. Glancing at the clock, you replied. "10:53 AM." His yawn was contagious, even though you had been awake for a while already. "Let's get dressed and go grab lunch." He suggested, rolling off the bed to head for the shower. You briefly considered joining him but decided to use the time to text Art, reassuring him that everything was going smoothly. When Patrick emerged from the shower, towel wrapped around his hips, you couldn't help but admire him with a sense of awe. Truly, you felt like the luckiest girl alive. "Your turn." He said, nodding toward the bathroom as he moved past you.
You felt like you had reached a new step of intimacy when Patrick casually entered the bathroom to use the toilet as you brushed your teeth a short while later. He nonchalantly pulled out his dick and pissed in front of you. It seemed odd to think so, but you found it insanely hot. Not the piss part, although if Patrick had that kind of fantasies, you wouldnât mind, but his ease around you, making you feel like you were already his wife.
An hour later, both of you were showered, dressed, and on your way to find something to eat.Â
Even a trip to a burger joint with Patrick felt like a date, or at least you hoped it was. Opting for water, you mentioned feeling nauseous to justify your choice. There didn't seem to be anything remotely healthy on the menu. Meanwhile, Patrick ordered a full meal: burger, fries, and coke.
Watching him devour his food with such happiness filled you with an inexplicable sense of contentment. You couldn't suppress the smile that spread across your face as he indulged in his meal, sauce smearing his chin and nose. He looked like a child. You couldn't help but picture your future children being just as messy as he was. Perplexed by your hungry gaze, he extended a fry towards you.
"I haven't had fries in ages." You remarked as Patrick offered you one. You hesitated briefly, aware of the calorie count in just one fry. More than five. You had checked the info every single time you had craved some. The grease made you think twice, but you took a bite to please Patrick. "Don't they serve these almost every day at the cafeteria?" He asked, his mouth full. "I've been on a diet." You confessed, hoping for some praise on your efforts. Art had mentioned Patrick noticed the changes in your body. Instead, he frowned, scanning you from head to toe. "I don't think you need to diet. You're perfect as you are." Perfect? You werenât âjust fineâ, you were perfect. The compliment shook you. "Even before? I was so chubby." You said, surprised. He fed you another fry. "I never thought you were chubby." He admitted. You knew he hadn't paid much attention to you in the past, but how had he missed that? "You hardly noticed me before. But admit it, you wouldn't have fucked me earlier this year." You said, rejecting the last fry offered. "You know why I wasnât eyeing you before." Tashi. Or was it because of Art? "But I always thought you were hot." Did he? It was hard to believe him given his previous lack of interest. "You were always Art's hot girlfriend in my mind. Well, you are Art's hot girlfriend." He corrected himself. Why did he have to bring Art into this? You dreaded whenever his name was mentioned in the conversation, knowing it could spoil the moment. Hoping to sidestep any tension, you reached out and placed your hand on his thigh, then slid it up to his crotch, giving a gentle squeeze.
"You're insatiable, aren't you?" You shook your head playfully and kept teasing him through his shorts while sipping your water innocently. "I have to save my energy for the match." He said, removing your hand. âI would usually allow a quickie but I know that wonât be enough for the little slut that you are, so keep your hands to yourself.â He whispered into your ear. You pouted like a child at his remark. You knew the sudden name-calling, as hot as it was, was due to the mention of Art. You were starting to know Patrick by heart. He suddenly felt dirty for what he was doing to his friend so he needed to degrade you to make himself feel superior. You were the whore who seduced him. He didnât mean to fall for it. You didnât mind that he blamed you. What bothered you was the lack of physical touch.
If Patrick wasn't going to give you what you desired, you were determined to make his life miserable until he did.
After lunch, you chose to sunbathe on the balcony of the room. You had discarded your top to achieve an even tan. "Everyone can see you, you know." Patrick commented as he settled at the foot of your lounge chair. You shrugged. Why did he care about your breasts if they weren't going to be in his mouth? He cupped one of your tits, squeezing it. "No, save your energy for the match." You mocked, echoing his earlier remarks. "Such a whore." He pinched your nipple in reprimand for your attitude, then turned and walked back into the room.
In the hours leading up to the match, you busied yourself by dropping random objects and bending to pick them up in front of him, occasionally âaccidentallyâ brushing against his dick. You could see the frustration building in his eyes. He was fed up with you.
The drive to the court was brief, yet you couldn't resist teasing him more by slowly pulling up your skirt at every turn. You felt his gaze on your legs and chest, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. Your outfit wasn't drastically different from usual, but going commando added an element of novelty, showcasing your perky nipples and tight cunt to him. He clearly didn't fully comprehend who he was dealing with.
Once he parked the car, you hopped out and helped carry his tennis equipment. If fucking you was too much for him, then carrying his rackets should be, too. You had spent the entire morning treating him like he was incapable of anything by himself. You opened doors for him, wiped the corners of his mouth, assisted with his dressing, and even offered to wipe him when he excused himself to the bathroom, always using the excuse of conserving his energy. It was obvious he was amused by the situation and also enjoyed being treated like a princess.
Standing in front of the building, he took his bag back from you. âI donât fuck losers, so you better win.â You warned him. In truth, you didn't care about the score, but you knew he needed the motivation. You were convinced his recent losses were due to a lack of support. He needed someone to cheer for him. âIâm just saying this for you." You teased, giving his ass a playful slap. "The guy youâre playing against is kinda cute. He will do." You shrugged and climbed up the bleachers to find your spot in the audience. As you settled in, you watched Patrick disappear into the building, a smile lingering on his face.
â
The first set had been a display of Patrick's skills, his forehand blistering the lines and his serves thundering past his opponent's defenses. Cheers from the crowd echoed around the stadium, encouragement punctuated by the occasional groan of dismay from his rival. You applauded enthusiastically. Perhaps you were biased, blinded by love, but Patrick's talent on the court was undeniable. You couldn't fathom why he hadn't already won a Grand Slam.
But as the second set unfolded, you knew why. The match took a different turn. Patrick's focus wavered, and with it, his precision. Unforced errors crept into his game, and his opponent, seizing the opportunity, began to make his way back point by point. The scoreboard tilted against him, the second set slipping away 6-4.
"Zweig, come on! I know you've got more in you than that!" You shouted at him. He glanced up at you, a smirk playing on his lips. Meeting your gaze, Patrick felt a surge of determination. This match was far from decided.
Entering the decisive third set, Patrick knew he had to regain control. The tension was high as the score grew tighter with each point. Sweat covered Patrick's forehead, his muscles tense. With every stroke, he fought to assert his dominance once more, refusing to let doubt cloud his mind.
At 5-5, the match hung in the balance. Patrick served with newfound determination, his first serves finding their mark with accuracy. He broke his opponent's serve with an impressive passing shot, seizing the opportunity with a groan of victory.
Serving for the match at 6-5, Patrick felt a surge of adrenaline. His serve was met with a return, but he anticipated it perfectly, sprinting to the net to deliver a crisp strike that left his opponent stranded. Match point.
As he walked to the baseline, he caught your eye in the stands. You subtly uncrossed your legs and parted them, revealing your lack of panties to him. You didnât care that all the court could see your pussy right now, you wanted Patrick to fully admire his prize. You could sense his distraction at the sight of you, but he swiftly refocused himself. Winning was crucial if he wanted to claim you. The final serve was met with a powerful return, but Patrick was ready. He moved forward, anticipation guiding his racket as he unleashed a cross-court winner.
The stadium erupted in an echo of applause and cheers. Patrick dropped his racket, arms raised in triumph. He had won, not just the match, but the game you both played. Amidst the applause, he searched for your beaming face in the crowd, acknowledging the essential role you had played in his victory. He wiped his face with his towel and shook his opponentâs hand. You waited until the court's audience had dispersed and the cameras were no longer rolling before you joined your man.
Leaping into Patrick's arms, you wrapped your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist. He instinctively gripped your thighs for support, his body glistening with sweat, looking more attractive than ever before. "Congratulations!" You exclaimed, drawing him into a passionate kiss. His lips tasted salty from the sweat covering his face. "Follow me." He murmured against your lips as he carried you inside the building. If he thought he could easily shake you off now, he had another thing coming.
â
Dropping you to your feet, Patrick led you to the locker rooms, which were empty for now. He pushed you into a cubicle and locked the door behind you. The scent of the room brought back memories of the frat houseâs bathroom. "You've been teasing me all day. Now, you're going to pay for it." He warned. Pay for it? How? You grinned at him, sticking your tongue out playfully. He bit down on it gently, pulling you into a deep kiss, his hands roaming over your ass, groping you possessively. âArenât you tired after focusing so much on your tennis?â You teased, sliding your hands down his damp shorts to grasp his ass as firmly as he was gripping yours. âYouâre such a cunt.â He grabbed your hands, removing them from his shorts as he flipped you over and shoved you against the way. Your nipples hardened against the cold wall. He pulled out his hard cock and plunged himself into you without any foreplay. You gasped at the sudden penetration, feigning dismay even as you loved every second of it. âPeople will hear us..â You whimpered as he started thrusting into you âLet them hear, I donât care.â He retorted sharply, thrusting into you as your moans filled the room. You ensured your cries were loud enough to trick him into giving you deeper thrusts. Gripping your neck, he kept you facing the wall as you arched your back, inviting his forceful entry. Patrick exploded inside you without warning, then withdrew, leaving you frustrated. Noises beyond the door indicated you were no longer alone.Â
"I should punish you like that and not let you cum." He whispered in your ear, eliciting a whimper. "PleaseâŠ" You pleaded, spreading yourself for him. "I will be good, I promise." You reached for his cock, but he slapped your hand away and re-entered you slowly, inch by inch. This was how he was making you pay for it : agonizingly slow thrusts that left you desperate. Moaning louder, you urged him to quicken his pace.
Laughter and whistles drifted through the walls, signaling that your little fun was no secret to others. Everyone knew someone was being fucked in there.Â
Finally giving in, Patrick began to ram vigorously, the wet sounds of his powerful thrusts reverberating through the room as you struggled to stifle your cries. "Patrick!" You moaned, your voice muffled by the wall you were almost kissing. Your orgasm washed over you, your legs shaking as you silently thanked the wall for supporting you. He slowly pulled out and flipped you around, capturing your lips in a sloppy kiss.
âLetâs go back to the hotel.â You giggled, pulling down your skirt. You could feel his cum running down your thighs, but you didn't care if anyone noticed. You wanted to parade your used-up cunt like a trophy. Patrickâs second trophy of the afternoon. Stepping out of the cubicle had been a challenge. As you stepped out, all the players turned to look at you, their faces adorned with wide grins. They knew what had happened in there, and it truly felt like a walk of shame. However, with Patrick standing beside you, holding your hand proudly, you felt like you could face anything.
â
Both of you had just emerged from the shower, wrapped in the hotel's luxurious bathrobes. Patrick sat on the bed while you positioned yourself behind him, legs on either side, tenderly brushing his hair. "I wish it could always be like this." You murmured, as Patrick closed his eyes in bliss. "What do you mean?" He asked. You dropped the hairbrush onto the bed and began to massage his scalp. "You and me." You replied. He sighed, already knowing where this was headed. This wasnât the first time you had expressed your desire to be with him exclusively. A request he would simply ignore, no matter how much you would make him come to try to convince him. "I can't stand seeing their faces anymore. No one understands me quite like you."
âI donât get you. Youâre just totally freaky and I accepted it.â He said, unsure if his comment would sting. But it didnât, it was true, and you both knew it. âPlease, let me be yours.â You whispered in his ear, your breath warm against his skin. Your heart pounded as you waited for his response, hoping that this time, things might be different. Patrick leaned back into you, his body relaxing further under your touch. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words and possibilities. âI wonât be demanding. I will let you do anything you want to me. I will let you use me and toss me around. And when youâre done with me, I will let you fuck every pretty thing you see and not be jealous, I promise.âÂ
Your pleas elicited a burst of laughter from him before he fell silent, lost in his thoughts. "We canât." He finally admitted, his voice barely audible. "Iâd be the worst friend in the world."
Your hands paused in their gentle massage, and you leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his ear. "Fuck Art.. Claim me. I promise to be good." You pleaded softly, your voice a mix of desperation and longing. You eagerly began to nibble on his earlobe, craving his closeness.
Patrick turned his head slightly, his eyes meeting yours. "Heâs my best friend and I already ruined things between us. This would destroy him." He replied, a sad smile tugging at his lips.
You understood that this wouldn't shatter Art. He didn't invest enough in you for it to cause any real pain. However, Patrick's betrayal would certainly sting. Yet, it would serve as the ideal pretext for Art to sever ties with Patrick, freeing himself from a friendship that held him back from Tashi.
"Plus, you probably only find this so endearing because you like chaos. Youâre drawn to the secret rendez-vous, the homewrecking and the desperate fucking. I told you, youâre fucked in the head."
You sighed, resting your forehead against the back of his head. And here he was again with the agression. "You know thatâs not true. I have wanted you ever since the moment I laid eyes on you. Remember the US Open Junior championship? Recall the girl waiting for Art outside the locker rooms? Did you truly believe I was waiting for Art? I simply couldn't compete with Tashi. But I promise you, I can be better than her."
He didn't respond immediately, but his hand reached up to cover yours, squeezing gently. Though he didn't speak, his subtle gesture conveyed a clear message, urging you to remain silent.
You slid off the bed and positioned yourself in front of him, loosening the belt of your bathrobe until it fell away, leaving you standing bare before him.
"Please. Tashi canât make you come like I do.â You whispered, feeling the heat of his gaze tracing every curve of your body. You knelt before him once more, this time in a physical plea. If he sought devotion, you were prepared to demonstrate desperation.
"What about Art?" You loosened his robe and pressed your face against his crotch, nuzzling between his legs. âHe canât fuck you like I do.â You chuckled, savoring the musky scent from his balls as if it were the strongest drug. Though you had never indulged in any substances, Patrick was undeniably more addictive than anything else in the world. âI canât do that to himâŠâ He gazed down at you as though he were weighing the prospect of claiming you for good, even though you had been his since you were fourteen. You sensed he was on the brink of surrender. âHe chose Tashi over you months ago.â You sensed his muscles tighten beneath your fingertips.
âShut the fuck up.â His words were sharp, and so was his touch. He roughly shoved you aside, causing you to fall back onto your butt. Tears welled up in your eyes as you gazed up at him, searching for a hint of the connection you thought you shared. But it was clear : Art mattered more to him than you ever could.Â
"Please" You whispered, voice trembling with a mix of heartbreak and anger.
Patrick's eyes were cold, devoid of the passion that burned between you a couple of hours ago. "Youâre the one who fucked up, he didnât do anything. They didnât do anything." He replied, his tone harsh and unyielding. Of course, you were the only one to blame. "It started as a game, but now... I can't do this."Â
âNow what?â The weight of his silence crushed you, the realization that this relationship had no future was cutting deeper than any physical pain.
âTell me you donât like me and I will leave you alone...â Without saying anything, he looked at you with conflicted eyes, then turned away abruptly, leaving you with a heavy silence that spoke volumes.
â
Patrick hadnât uttered a single word at the hotel after that. The only time he spoke was to urge you to get dressed, as it was time to return to campus. The car ride back to the university was painfully silent, with only the radio and your muffled sobs breaking the quiet.
Once close to the campus, he pulled the car over to the side of the road, turning off the engine. The sudden silence was deafening. He turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of longing and pain. The silence stretched on, and you could feel the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, you leaned over and kissed him. For a moment, he kissed you back with a desperate intensity that made your heart ache. But then he pulled away, breathless and shaken.
"I do care about you. More than I ever thought I would.â He whispered so quietly you had to strain to hear him. In that moment, it felt like there were only the two of you in the world. Those were the words you had been dying to hear, and it felt like he was only willing to admit them out loud once. Patrick Zweig cared about you. Maybe not as much as you cared about him, but it was a start. You were confident you could find a way to make him love you.
With a smile, you reached over to his crotch and slid your hand down his shorts, massaging him. That was the thing with Patrick, you didnât know how to show your affection in any other way than through your body. Everything else felt...forbidden. Was it because you were in a relationship? Not exactly. Was it because you had idolized this man for so long that he had become some kind of god to you? Most likely. Patrick seemed unreal to you, and feeling his body was the only way to make sure he was real. He allowed himself to get lost in your touch for a moment, moaning at the sensation before abruptly stopping you. âFuck, youâre truly mad.â He removed your hand from down his pants. âWe canât. Letâs drive you back.â
You had imagined countless ways to convince him to keep you. You could remain his side piece for the rest of your life, offering him your body before he went home to his wife and kids. Yet, you were certain he would find a way to reject you anyway. Deep down, you knew it all came down to his loyalty to Art, not your relationship with him. Now, you were parked in front of the campus.
âI love you.â You had wanted to tell him that ever since you first noticed him at fourteen. Saying it felt like the most natural thing in the world, it felt as natural as breathing. You nibbled on your lower lip, looking at him with hopeful eyes. You didnât expect him to reciprocate because you knew he couldnât. No, he wouldnât. No one in the world could love as fiercely as you loved him. But you needed him to acknowledge it. He closed his eyes for a moment, as if absorbing your words. Taking a deep breath, he nodded in response to your confession. Of course, he already knew.Â
He unlocked the door, signaling for you to leave. Reluctantly, you opened the car door and stepped out. Patrick took a deep breath, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. "Take care of Art." Not a word for you.
"I will." You lied, your voice barely audible. You did not give two fucks about that asshole. You despised him and hated your relationship with him. Just thinking about him made you feel nauseous.
And with that, you turned and walked away, leaving behind the shattered remnants of a relationship that was never meant to be. For a fleeting moment, you considered stepping in front of the car and ending it all, hoping he might finally take you seriously and feel enough pity to let you stay even just an afterthought in his mind. But when you looked back, he was already far gone.
â
Not knowing what to do now that your life had been shattered, you wandered to Artâs dorm, hoping to find some comfort. You knocked on his door with urgency until he finally opened it. âFuck, are you okay?â He asked, noticing your tear-streaked face and runny nose. âNoâŠâ You admitted, unable to hide the heartbreak you were experiencing. âIs she okay?â Who? Oh, right, your aunt. You remembered the lie you had concocted to slip away with Patrick. âSheâs really not doing well. I think sheâs going to die.â You replied, knowing deep down you were really talking about yourself.
Wrapped in Artâs bed, cocooned by the blanket, your face nestled against his neck while his hands traced gentle patterns on your back. Using him to dull the lack of Patrick had become a habit over the months, but now it felt unsettling, almost like betraying him. âI canât keep lying to you. Thereâs someone else. Or there was.â You murmured against his skin, sensing his body tense beneath yours. âI already know.â He confessed. He knew? Why would he persist in perpetuating this farce of a relationship? The only rationale behind this seemed to be that the relationship held some benefit for him. Was it the intimacy? The status it afforded in Tashiâs eyes? âHow did you find out?â You asked, seeking clarity on the matter.
âFirst of all, you never feel like doing it anymore, and youâre the horniest person I know.â He said. You barely had enough energy to fuck him, plus you couldnât scrub yourself hard enough to remove the dirty feeling. âYou have marks that I know arenât just accidââ He poked at the bruise on your thigh, an obvious bite mark.Â
âAnd you donât care?â You cut him off. You withdrew slightly to study his eyes, but he remained silent, offering no response. âGod, you really donât care.â You slightly raised your voice at him. You disentangled yourself from his embrace and slid out of the bed. Standing before him, hands firmly planted on your hips, you confronted him directly. âI truly wonder what I am to you. Donât you think I went and fucked someone else because I just got tired of my boyfriend ignoring me to spend so much time with his âfriendâ TashiâŠ?â You emphasized the word 'friend'. It was wrong, shifting the blame for your infidelity onto him. But you couldn't help it. You couldn't bear to be the villain in this story. Patrick was your soulmate, and Art was just there in the meantime.
âYou know she needs us." Art attempted to explain, perched on the edge of his bed, his gaze fixed on you. "Us? She doesnât need me, believe me." You reassured him. Tashi couldn't care less about you, and now that she was out of Patrick's life, you felt no obligation to keep her in yours. "Maybe because you're playing besties with her ex." He said, the way he phrased it sparking doubt about what he truly knew. Was he aware of your secret relationship with Patrick?
"Maybe someone needs to. You barely treat him like he's your best friend. And for what? Because he satisfies your little girlfriend in ways you never could?" You intended to talk about Tashi, but the parallels with your own situation felt uncomfortably apt. From the way Art glared at you, it was clear he understood the message perfectly. "You're a coward, Art. If you made a move, you could have her. But you prefer your comfort. You like having me around to keep your dick wet, but you don't love me. I'm just convenient." His eyes were red, though he wasn't shedding tears. You couldn't discern if he was sad or simply enraged. That was the perpetual challenge with Art : his reluctance to communicate. Even now, he maintained a stubborn silence. "Why her, by the way? Is it because she chose Patrick and you can't get over it? Just fuck her already. Get it out of your system. Or maybe you already have? Did she get down on her fucked-up knee and worship your talent?" You regretted mentioning Tashi's knee, but it was at the heart of the matter. The catalyst for everything.
âI fucked someone else and you wonât even react. Call me a whore, insult me, be disgusted by me. I donât care, just say something. Grow some balls and end things with me.â You practically begged him. Patrick had no issue calling you all the names in the world. Why couldn't Art do the same?
"Let's end it." He finally muttered. You weren't sure if that was truly what he wanted, but it was definitely what you desired, and the ever-so-accommodating Art might have just said it to please you.
âFinally.â You clapped at him, more mocking than applauding his courage. "Thanks for everything." Grabbing your shoes, you left his room without looking back. Walking barefoot down the dorm hallway, a lump formed in your throat and tears streamed down your cheeks. You were crying. Who would have thought Art fucking Donaldson would ever make you cry?
You wouldnât miss Art, but you couldnât believe that you had let the opportunity to be with the man of your dreams slip away because of a relationship that had ended with a snap of a finger. Art had shattered your life's blueprint, the plans you had crafted since adolescence.
â
You were finally free, and you had to tell Patrick right away. At last, you could be together with the man you were meant to be with. Practically sprinting through the corridor, you hoped to reach your room before his bedtime. Grabbing your laptop, you opened AIM, hoping to see a message from him. Thank goodness he was online, but there was nothing from him. You clicked on his username and opened your chat box, scrolling through the dozens of nude pictures you had sent him.Â
You: I just broke up with him. Can I see you, please? Patrick: You truly love making my life insanely complicated.
You watched the "typing" indicator flash, but despite your endless waiting, nothing ever appeared on the screen. He was now offline. In a final desperate attempt, you sent him a âPlease,â only to be met with an automated response:
zweigpat can't receive IMs right now. Status is unavailable or offline.
â
As you lay in bed, tears staining your cheeks, you couldn't shake the feeling of rejection that hung heavy in the air. The weight of Patrick's silence felt suffocating, leaving you to wonder if he had blocked you out of his life completely.
Hours passed, the room growing darker as evening fell. Your stomach rumbled with hunger, yet you felt emotionally drained, as if life had been sucked out of you. A knock on the door shattered the silence, momentarily pulling you out of your misery. Could it be Art offering explanations? He had to be the last person you wished to see at this moment. Was it Tashi coming for a fight? She would destroy you. You had to admit, dying in her hands sounded quite sweet at the moment.
You hesitated before making your way to the door, the anticipation gnawing at your insides. With a shaky hand, you turned the doorknob, half expecting to see Art standing there with a remorseful expression. Instead, you were met with the sight of Patrick, his face etched with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. Your breath caught in your throat as you took in his presence, your mind struggling to process the sudden turn of events.
Before you could say anything, Patrick had closed the distance between you, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate, hungry kiss. It felt surreal, almost too good to be true. There he was, standing before you. Patrick Zweig. And he was yours.
He yearned for you with an intensity you had never seen before. His desperation for your touch, his craving for your lips and body, his longing for your love. All of it consumed him completely, making him a shell of himself. The roles were now reversed, and Patrick Zweig, once unattainable, now laid vulnerable at your feet. The power had shifted to your side. The longing in his eyes, the very thing you had waited for since you were fourteen, now seemed pitiful. He truly looked pathetic, and a twinge of revulsion began to creep into your thoughts. Patrick Zweig was yours and it felt disgusting.
â âŁâ„âŠ
Tagging : @starrgurl46 @egcdeath @izzywags478 @serenadingtigers @justzluv
n/a : Here is part 2 of Silent Devotion. I'm not sure if this calls for another sequel. Is this turning into a series? I don't know, to be fair. I like writing about obssessive!reader (even though, she's not as remotely freaky as she was in part one) but it's always A LOT. I lose sleep over this. I also love that we got to see more of Patrick in this. Hope you liked it! (The amount of researches I had to do about facebook in 2006 and AIM.... I don't want to talk about it.)
See you next time!
hi tumblr! i just posted a video of some family gameplay mods that i'll be using in my let's play, here's all the links mentioned:
pregnancy / parent mods
parent at home - semi active career by loryna
expanded pregnancy interactions by loryna
parenting styles mod by loryna
realistic childbirth mod (llamaze class update) by pandasama
toddler mods
patty cake mod by ozzy sims 4 mods
functional drawing station by pandasama
makeup bag / makeover parents by pandasama
education overhaul mod (preschool) by adeepindigo
functional kids trampoline by pandasama
functional play food truck by pandasama
cozy nursery set (slide) by hydrangea
toddler basketball hoop by pandasama
time out chair by ozzy sims 4 mods
h&b pro toddler tablet by littledica
high chair lock by pandasama
functional squishamallows by bellasims
no puddles under bathtubs by littlemisssam
infant / toddler bath sponge override by vixonspixels
healthy porridge for toddlers by somik and severinka
cartoon movie override by midnitehearts
misc mod / cc / lot
clean day clutter + cleaning items override by simkoos
white willow memorial hospital by hyggetrait
kaira's outfit : lil one recolor set by themintsimmer
you can see all gameplay + functionality of these mods here
pairing: fwb!patrick zweig x fem!stanford!reader x bsf!stanford!art donaldson
warnings: smut 18+, threesome, unprotected vaginal sex, oral sex (m. and f. receiving), creampie, praise, dirty talk, everyone is really into each other
word count: 4.5k
summary: you and patrick have been secretly hooking up behind artâs back for months without him suspecting a thing. however, everything changes when art unexpectedly walks in on you both.
nav. // m.list // taglist
âFuck!â you cursed when your trembling, non-dominant hand holding the nail polish applicator accidentally painted your skin bright red with a rogue flick. Hastily shoving the applier back into the glass bottle, you reached for a tissue, carelessly splashed some nail polish remover on it, and tried to fix the mess as best as you could. You squinted your eyes as you dabbed the remover-soaked tissue on your skin, the sun gradually setting and the chilly evening summer breeze feeling pleasant against your skin in your humid Stanford dorm room.Â
âThatâs⊠better.â you mumbled to yourself as you held your hands in front of you, admiring your freshly painted nails with a satisfied grin, when three loud knocks on your dorm room door resonated through the room, making you jump and let out a small squeal in surprise, jolting you out of your trance.Â
Hastily, you tucked away your nail polish supplies before another set of impatient knocks echoed through the space. âComing!â you yelled out, leaping towards the door with a rush of excitement coursing through your body, knowing exactly who was waiting on the other side.Â
You carefully grasped the handle, ensuring not to ruin your fresh nail polish, and pulled the door open with a beaming smile. In front of the door opening, your best friend stood with his hands in his pockets and a broad grin that widened when he saw your excited expression.Â
âPatrick!â you exclaimed, holding your arms out as he swiftly wrapped you in a hug, lifted you from the ground, and spun you around while casually closing the door with his foot. âCareful, careful! I just painted my nails!â you grumbled, quickly checking your nails with a concerned frown before he set you back down on the ground.
âYou were getting all dolled up fâme? You didnât have to, you know.â You rolled your eyes, his cocky attitude already surfacing after approximately ten seconds. âOh, shut up. And uhm, If you didnât know already, Iâm actually seeing someone. Stanford has some pretty cute guys, surprisingly.â
Patrick narrowed his eyes, closely observing your face with a serious expression before a wide grin broke out. He chuckled while shaking his head, his eyes briefly drifting away from yours before he firmly gripped your jaw, âYouâre fucking lying.â A small smile tugged at your lips, unable to maintain your poker face any longer. Having been best friends for so long, it was easy for both of you to spot a lie.
âI mean, obviously youâre not seeing anyone. Câmon baby, we both know no one can fuck you as good as I can.â he taunted, his voice low and raspy, before he stepping closer to you until youâre merely inches away from each other, the smirk on his face gradually fading.
His eyes looked right into yours, then shifted to your lips as he licked his own before abruptly cupping your face with both hands and pressing his lips to yours hungrily. His mouth was warm against yours, a mingling of passion and urgency as teeth clashed briefly and tongues fought for dominance while you could taste the faint hint of cigarettes mixed with minty gum.
You were well aware of the risks that came with being friends with benefits, but god, it was so fucking addictive. Patrick had a way of making you feel like none of your ex-boyfriends ever had, which kept you coming back for more.Â
And since the two of you first hooked up at a party, both intoxicated and horny, a few months have passed of you continuing as friends with benefits without any issues yet. You both agreed right away to keep it a secret from your other best friend, Art, fearing it might complicate things between you three or potentially ruin your close friendship. And so far, it worked out just fine, and everything between you three remained as normal as ever.Â
âHave you seen Art already?â You questioned as you broke the kiss, making him whine as his rough hands wandered all over your body, reaching your waist.
âHmm, what? Art? No, no, not yet. Iâ uh, I have more important things on my mind first.â He snickered, his signature smirk spreading across his face, before swiftly pushing you onto your bed, causing you to bounce lightly on the mattress as you gazed up at him through your eyelashes, taking in his athletic shape. You noticed he had grown more muscular since the last time you saw him, nearly making you drool at the sight of his biceps flexing as he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside, revealing his defined abs.
He then fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, his impatient and hurried manners only slowing him down instead, making him groan in frustration before finally yanking his trousers off and kicking them to the side. Your eyes were instantly drawn to his tented boxers, with precum forming a wet patch on the fabric as he approached you on the bed, causing you to unconsciously spread your legs open.
âFuck, I havenât gone a day without thinking about you, you know that? Your sweet mouth, your perfect tits, your pretty pussy. You have no idea how much Iâve looked forward to this moment.â he whispered with a raspy voice, your floral perfume filling his senses as he removed your top, the soft material gliding over your head, and then did the same to your shorts, his movements clumsy and uncoordinated, before tossing them to the ground, leaving a pile of scattered clothes on the floor of your dorm room.Â
âSo⊠what? youâre telling me that you havenât fucked any girls on tour? At all?â You asked sceptically with a raised eyebrow as he knelt before you on the bed, his lips slightly parted with a sly smile on his face as he admired your stunning body, a red lace lingerie set perfectly hugging your figure, his eyes scanning every inch of you. âShit. Youâre so fucking hot.â he chuckled softly, shaking his head in disbelief that someone as hot as you would want to have sex with him.Â
âBaby, trust me when I say the only thing Iâve fucked these past few weeks was my own hand while thinking about you.â he assured you as his head lowered to your neck, but you caught him off guard when you swiftly pushed him off, causing him to land on his back beside you before straddling his lap, grinning down at him. He groaned at your sudden dominance, a smug smile playing on his lips as his wandering hand moved to your ass, roughly squeezing it as he gazed up at you.Â
âHmm, really? While thinking about me, huh? Thatâs cute.â You whispered while grinding your hips right on top of his boner, the sensation of your swollen clit rubbing against him making you grow wetter with each passing second, desperately needing to feel him inside of you after weeks of not seeing him.Â
âOh câmon, baby. Donât act like you havenât been doing the same. I know for a fact youâve been using that pink toy of yours while moaning my name every time you came.â He taunted, then proceeded to imitate you mockingly by moaning his own name in a high-pitched tone. Dickhead. He knew you too well.Â
âOh, fuck you, Patrick.â You playfully slapped him on the chest with a sheepish smile on your face, neither denying nor confirming anything as he cockily stared up at you with half-lidded eyes. âOnly if you ask nicely, sweetheart.âÂ
The smirk on his face quickly faded as you unexpectedly quickened your movements and lowered your head towards his neck, planting sloppy kisses along his jawline before nibbling on his earlobe, causing him to groan and buck his hips up in desperation.
You teasingly moved your mouth towards his, ghosting your lips against his and making him reach for you desperately, causing you to smirk. He bit his lip, staring at you with hunger in his eyes, until you finally gave in and kissed him eagerly, your eyes fluttering shut as your lips met his. Smacking noises along with soft moans filled the room, fully immersed in the moment, unable to think about anything else but his roaming hands roughly exploring your half-naked body as you lustfully made out.Â
Suddenly, the door burst open, jolting you both out of your trance as you quickly broke the kiss, a string of saliva still linking your lips.Â
Your heart leapt in your throat as you saw your best friend, Art, standing frozen in the doorway, his jaw dropping and his face turning red with one hand still tightly clutching the door handle. A hot wave of embarrassment crashed over him, and none of you dared to moveâ Patrick stared at Art with wide eyes, while Art's blue eyes darted between the two of you.
Both Patrick and Art remained frozen, too embarrassed and shocked to move. But youâ you stayed put for a different reason. You were intrigued by how this scene would unfold, silently waiting for one of them to speak, a spark of mischief dancing in your eyes.
âOh my god. Sorry, Iâ uh, I didnât know you guysâ I didnât know you guys were, uhm, together.â Art stammered, finally breaking the silence as he awkwardly scratched the back of his head, his wide eyes unsure where to look and his lips tightly pressed together into a thin line.Â
âNo, no, we arenât, I promise! This is justâ Itâs likeâ weâreââ Patrick stammered, trying his best to come up with an excuse but failing miserably, so you quickly cut him off, âWe arenât together.â You remarked with a casual indifference, sitting up straight on Patrickâs lap now with your hands resting on his bare chest for support. Art finally mustered the courage to meet your gaze, one eyebrow raised in confusion and his lips parted as if to speak, but he was too dumbfounded to find the words.
âWeâre just⊠you know, friends who⊠occasionally have sex.â You shifted your gaze back to Patrick, who snapped out of his frozen state and inhaled a deep breath, his cheeks flushing bright red, clearly unsure how to react. âI wanna die right now.â Patrick muttered through clenched teeth, his voice barely audible as he slowly dragged his hands over his red face in embarrassment.
You returned your attention to Art again who hadnât moved an inch, still awkwardly standing there. A cunning smile tugged at your lips as you took in the scene. âSo are you just going to watch like a fucking creep or are you actually going to join us?â
 âWhat!?â Art, blurted out, eyes wide with disbelief as he swallowed hard, the sound of the gulp almost audible in the stunned silence. âYou should, uh⊠come here and join usâ As friends, of course.â
From your peripheral vision, you noticed Patrick's face gradually light up as soon as you suggested Art to join you, his excitement clearly visible. It was obvious, reallyâ Patrick had always been attracted to Art. You could see it in the way he teased him, the smile that appeared whenever Art entered the room, and the subtle touches here and there. So, just before Patrick arrived, you had texted Art, asking him to meet you both in your room in ten minutes. But Patrick didnât need to know that. To him, this all was simply a perfect accident.Â
âUhm⊠I, uhâ yeah, okay. I mean, sure.â Art let out an awkward chuckle and nodded slightly, the tension he was feeling gradually washing away and his stance slowly relaxing, though he still hadn't fully processed what he'd just walked in on, but he was more than eager to join.Â
He closed the door behind him and made his way towards you both, his eyes unintentionally darting between your half-naked body and Patrickâs tented boxers, before sitting on the edge of the bed as you rose from Patrickâs lap.Â
âI canât believe you guys left me out of this.â He joked, but there was a hint of seriousness in his tone, which made you gaze at him with a sympathetic expression as you straddled his lap, hands resting on his toned shoulders.Â
âWeâre sorry, really. It wasnât⊠intentional. But I promise weâll take good care of you now, okay?â you whispered softly, your sharp nails grazing over the skin of his neck before moving to the hem of his shirt. In one swift motion, you pulled it over his head and tossed it aside.Â
âWell, you better. I mean, you both have a lot to apologise for here, just saying.â Art teased, a challenging tone in his voice now as you could feel his erection growing bigger right beneath your dripping core. Patrick now sat beside Art, wasting no time as he attached his lips to Artâs neck and planted wet kisses while whispering softly against his skin, âWe didnât mean to. It justâ it just happened, you know? But uhm⊠weâll make it up to you.âÂ
Art could only moan in response, strangled noises escaping his mouth as you began to slowly move your hips back and forth right on his painfully hard boner. His roaming hands explored your body with caution and eagerness, while his blue eyes stared down at your barely covered figure with his mouth slightly agape, giving him a perfect view of your cleavage. âOh my fucking god.âÂ
You then firmly gripped his jaw as your mouth slowly drew closer to his, causing him to shift his gaze back up, half-lidded eyes staring at you before your soft lips met his. Your bodies pressed together as his mouth moved against yours with an unrestrained passion while Patrick sloppily placed love bites all over Artâs neck and collarbones, whispering soft apologies against his skin.
Art felt as if he were in heaven as he sat on the edge of the bed, a warm glow spreading through him. The soft smacking noises of your and Patrickâs lips seemed to blend perfectly with his racing heart as his cheeks heated up, savouring every second of the moment.Â
You then grasped Patrickâs jaw, pulling his head toward yours and Artâs, inviting him into the kiss. Soon all three of you were entangled in the kiss, tongues moving against each other, fueled by the pent-up sexual energy between the three of you that finally seemed to burst. The world around you faded as Patrickâs lips pressed against yours with a hunger that was soon matched by Artâs, both of them eagerly moving their tongues against each otherâs and yours while yearning for more.Â
Art's hand glided over your bare back, pausing at the clasp of your bra. He skillfully unclasped it with one hand, slipping it off your shoulders and throwing it aside, your bra quickly replaced by his firm hand. You softly moaned into their mouths at the feeling of Art kneading your breasts, causing him to slyly smirk into the kiss, meanwhile Patrick's hand travelled to between your thighs, trailing over your clothed cunt and feeling your wetness through the fabric.
You gently pulled away from the kiss, your mouth parting from theirs as quick breaths left your swollen lips. Gazing at your two best friends kissing before you, you carefully lifted yourself from Artâs lap.
Both of them were lost in their own world, lips still attached to each other as they hungrily kissed each other, the passion in their kiss so intense and urgent that they didnât even notice you breaking the kiss. A mischievous smirk spread across your face as you slowly dropped down to your knees in front of them. Your eyes remained locked on the boys as sighs and moans echoed throughout the room, the hunger and longing for one another overtaking them both. Â
Your hands eagerly grasped at Artâs pants as you fumbled with the buttons, causing him to break the kiss and snap his head towards you, finally jolting him out of the trance and, for the first time, realising that you had pulled away from the kiss. âWhy are you stopping? Go on, continue.â You ordered, Artâs hips instinctively bucking up so you could pull his pants down. Patrick was the first to resume the kiss, his hand gliding against Artâs jaw as he guided him back towards him, their lips meeting once again.Â
Both of them were now sitting in only their boxers, their erections clearly visible as they were making out heavily. A sense of power surged through you as you attentively gazed up at them and palmed them through their boxers at the same time, noticing their bodies instantly tensing up at your touch as they moaned into each otherâs mouths. After a short while, you freed them both from their last piece of clothing, their erections jumping free against their abs with precum leaking from the top.
âGonna make my boys feel so fucking good.â You murmured as you wrapped your hands around both of them and simultaneously pumped their cocks at a slow pace while licking your lips, nearly drooling at the sight in front of you.Â
You drew your head closer to Patrickâs cock first, starting by gently licking the tip and feeling him melt under your touch before you wrapped your lips around him, hollowing your cheeks. He let out a loud moan in Artâs mouth and gripped the sheets when feeling your head bob up and down on his erection. You made sure to flick your tongue over the pink tip at the same time, knowing exactly what drove Patrick crazy.Â
Then, you withdrew from Patrick and moved to Art who was eagerly waiting to feel your warm mouth around him after seeing how Patrick reacted to your touch. Your tongue moved along the length of his shaft before reaching the tip, swirling your tongue over the most sensitive part. A string of curse words flowed softly from his mouth as your lips wrapped around his cock and pushed yourself down on him until you felt him touch the back of your throat, all while your other hand stroked Patrickâs cock at a fast pace.
Groans and shattered breaths escaped both their lips as you alternated between sloppily sucking them both off, saliva running down your chin while using your hand on the one that wasn't in your mouth at the time, bringing them closer and closer to their release.Â
The kiss between them grew more heated and sloppy with each passing second, and they were both desperate to let go, but you abruptly stopped right before they could. Both of their heads snapped in your direction with disappointed expressions on their flushed faces, panting heavily as you gazed up at them with a sly smile.
âNot yet. I want you to cum inside of me. Both of you.â you murmured as you gazed up at them through your eyelashes with your lips slick and swollen. The sight of you kneeling in front of them, spit tracing down your chin and making a mess all over your tits as you stared up at them with large, doe-like eyes could make them cum on the spot. A soft oh my god slipped from Artâs lips as he fixed his gaze on you with a mesmerised grin, causing Patrickâs eyes to shift from you to Art, a knowing smile forming on his lips, chuckling as he noticed his enchanted expression.Â
âArt looks like heâs already about to cum, baby. Help the poor guy out.â Patrick chuckled, causing Art to snap out of his trance and lightly push Patrick to the side, his cheeks heating up because it was trueâ he was so fucking close already.Â
You rose to your feet, slipped your soaked underwear down and stepped out of them, before gently pushing Art onto the bed, making him lie flat on his back. Patrick moved behind you, his eyes fixed on your figure as you hovered over Artâs lap, your hands pressing against his chest and your wetness dripping onto him.
âYou want me to fuck you, Art? âCause I donât know, Iâm just⊠not fully convinced yet.â You taunted, his mouth slightly agape in mesmerisation as he stared up at you. âYouâre such a fucking tease, you know that?â You raised an eyebrow at him with a naughty grin dancing on your lips, waiting for him to say the words you so badly wanted to hear. âFuck baby, you have no idea how bad I need you. I want you to fuck me, please.âÂ
With a satisfied smile, you lined his cock up to your entrance and slowly sank down, feeling him gradually fill you up and stretch you out completely, causing you to hiss with pleasure. Art threw his head back at the sensation, and his hands instinctively moved to your hips, gripping them firmly to prevent himself from cumming straight away. âIs this okay?â You asked, slowly rolling your hips on top of him and resting your hands on his chest for support. âYeah, thatâsâ fuck, thatâs amazing. Pleaseâ keep going, baby.â
âYeah, she feels good, huh?â Patrick chuckled, a smug grin spreading across his face as he reached around to massage your tits from behind, teasing your sensitive nipples while you leaned against his shoulder. Your hand found its way to his cock and began to stroke him slowly, causing him to moan into your neck and leave a trail of kisses.Â
âSo fucking good, oh my god. I canât believe youâve kept her to yourself all this time, man.â Art replied, before letting out a hitched breath as you slowly began to rhythmically move up and down on him. The curve of Artâs cock allowed him to rub against your g-spot so perfectly, it caused your eyes to roll to the back of your head and let out a loud moan, one hand resting on his chest and the other one pumping Patrickâs erection at a fast pace.Â
You murmured a soft come here to Patrick, beckoning him to move closer to Art. You let go of Patrick and took Artâs hand, guiding it towards Patrickâs cock before wrapping his hand around it firmly.
âMake him feel good.â you murmured, and Art quickly obliged as he began to move his hand up and down on Patrickâs cock, allowing you to focus on the movements of your hips. Your fingers gently trailed over Artâs abs all the way to his lips, before sticking them in his mouth and forcing him to suck on your digits. Artâs eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of your cunt squeezing him so tightly, meanwhile, Patrickâs stared at him through half-lidded eyes and his mouth agape, making it even more obvious to you that he has been waiting for this moment for a long fucking time.Â
Sensual moans and grunts from all three of you filled the room as you moved your hips at a fast pace, and youâre so certain other people in the building could hear you, but at this moment, you couldnât care less.
Patrickâs hand moved down to where your and Artâs bodies connected and began massaging his balls, only adding to the intense pleasure Art was already feeling, causing him to grip the sheets.Â
âIâm notâ Iâm not gonna last long.â Art cried out, biting his lip as he was nearing his release. âLet go, baby. Wanna feel you cum inside of me.â You could feel his cock twitch at your words before he let out a choked sob and painted your walls white, cumming as deep into you as possible. âGood boy.â you whispered as you cupped his flushed face with your hands and kissed him, giving him time to recover from his orgasm as he whispered against your lips, âSo fucking good, oh my god.â
You then slowly lifted yourself off his cock, a mixture of your juices and his sperm dripping down your thighs, but Patrick quickly moved behind you as soon as he noticed, grabbing your hips and hungrily sucking on your neck. âLet me help you finish, pretty girl. You want that? Hmm?â
A soft please was all you could get out before he positioned himself behind you and pushed in with one quick thrust, too impatient to take it slow since he was already so fucking close to his release. When he was balls deep inside of you, he wrapped his bicep around your neck and pulled you up, your back resting against his sweat-soaked chest.Â
âGetâ fuck, get under her, Art.â Art instantly understood as he moved his head directly under your body and wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking it eagerly while Patrick began to move inside of you. He quickly set a steady but rough pace, causing you to arch your back as he massaged your inner walls so perfectly, strangled noises escaping your lips. âOhâ oh my fucking god.â
It was so fucking messyâ Patrick pounding into you while Artâs cum was still deep inside of you, causing a mixture of both Artâs cum and your juices to drip down onto Art, who was ferally sucking on your swollen clit, making you moan both their names loudly over and over again.Â
Patrickâs focused gaze was fixed on his cock disappearing into your body, and it felt like a dream come true to fuck his best friend with his other best friendâs cum dripping out of you at the same timeâ it used to be merely a fantasy that he would think about while stroking himself late at night all alone in his room.
He groaned as his hand reeled back before slapping your ass, causing you to clench around his cock as you moaned loudly. âOh fuck, feelsâ feels so fucking good.âÂ
Your eyes fluttered shut when he continued rubbing against that one spot inside you that made your toes curl, the pleasure building as you could feel his cock twitching inside you.Â
âAh, fuck, fuck, fuck! Iâmâ Iâm gonna cumâ you cried out, brows knit together as you felt your release approaching. âFuck, cum for us, baby.â Art moaned into your cunt, his tongue moving faster against your sensitive clit.Â
Another forceful thrust and your orgasm struck you, causing you to see stars as your vision blurred, your nails digging deep into Patrickâs arm. His hips began to stagger, losing rhythm, and you knew he was close too before you felt a pool of warmth inside of you as he filled you to the brim with his cum. A string of curse words left his lips as his grip around your body tightened when he felt your body go limp, trying his best to hold you up while slowly moving his hips and riding out his high.Â
Art lay back down on the bed again, sensing that you were about to collapse, and you soon did, falling right on top of his body, and giving Patrick a perfect view of your cum-dripping cunt.Â
âOh well that was..â Art began, as Patrick chimed in, âYup.â âAnd that.â âI know.â âAnd THAT.â âYeahhh.â âJust, donât you guys fucking dare leave me out of this next time!â Art demanded, his tone firm with his chest still heaving up and down. âGot it, no more secrets from now on. Right, Patrick?â you reassured Art, then glanced back at Patrick. âYeah, I mean⊠both our cum is literally, like, dripping out of you, baby. I donât think we can ever go back to normal after this.â
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luke sleeps with your tit in his hand but somewhere through the night when heâs already asleep, his thumb starts moving against your nipple like a cat swishing its tail. he does it unconsciouslyâ and by the time you wake up, luke is asleep, breathing softly against the crook of your neck, your nipple is pebbled and youâre even hornier than when you went to bed.
- đ
semi-public sex; fingering; sleepy sex; MDNI 18+ w/ LUKE CASTELLAN
you wake up without exactly knowing why. your dream was still in the middle of unfolding its plot, you donât have to pee nor are you thirsty, but thereâs something that woke you up. it takes a second, maybe two, and youâre just about to slip back into sleep whenever you feel it. a gentle swipe against your left nipple, light with barely any pressure applied but itâs there nonetheless.
just the one touch is enough to clear everything up. you can feel the arousal in your lower abdomen, gathered purely from bodily instinct and not necessarily from personal desire.
like a cat swishing its tail. thatâs lukeâs movements. back and forth. back and forth. over and over again until it makes complete sense for your nipples to be erect and demanding even more of your boyfriends attention.
he has his arm slung over your waist and his hand tucked under your thin tee shirt, allowing him to hold your boobs while he slept without exposing your breasts to the entire hermes cabin. everyone else was asleep, but these kids were tricky and known to sneak out every so often. one thing though, they could keep a secret, as only the eyes in here and a few in your cabin knew about your excursions to in the middle of the night and for early in the morning.
luke was supposed to only be holding your boob to help him sleep, an agreement youâd settled on weeks ago. up until this point, heâd done just that. like your body was his personal favorite stuffed animal, all he has needed to sleep was your breast in one hand and the soft sound of your breaths. with both available to him, he was out like a light.
your whispering of his name and jostling of his body doesnât do much until the third time, after which he hums with weight that tells you heâs still out.
âstop,â you tell him.
youâre sure he doesnât know what heâs doing wrong, because he even as he apologizes his thumb continues.
âokay. âm sorry, angel,â comes his apology, paired with a kiss behind your ear before he nestles his head back against your neck. but his thumb still swipes back and forth.
you don't mean to, but you whimper. unsurpisingly, this is what gets luke's attention.
he groans behind you as he comes to. there's a moment where he does nothing but breathe, his thumb continuing its pursuit. then it stop.
"oh. shit, my bad." he sounds actually apologetic this time. actually cognizant of the problem he's caused between your thighs. "are you ...?" you nod. "want me to help you out?"
his hand slides from your tit to the waistband of your flimsy shorts, waiting for your permission before he continues downward. he gets you off quick and easily. you remain quiet as his other hand settles over your mouth, muffling the little noises you make while his other hand flicks over your clit and nestles inside of you, massaging your walls with practiced ease even when he's tired.
you have one hand on each of his forearms to anchor you while you finally get the orgasm you need. and once it's all over, you and luke fall asleep with his hand cupping your mound and slung loosely over your throat.